


Hello, Sweetheart

by ViridianJane



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViridianJane/pseuds/ViridianJane
Summary: Gwaine and Merlin have been dancing around their feelings for years; Merlin too focused on trying to thwart destiny, and Gwaine holding back in fear of losing what they already have. But the battle at Camlann comes too close to taking everything from them. It’s a second chance for all of them, and Gwaine confronts Merlin about magic, love, loyalty, and (surprisingly) dragons. But the fight for peace is not over yet: Arthur has yet to change the laws on magic, and his ignorance and hypocrisy provokes a group of rogue druids into taking action. They’ve placed a curse on the land, and Merlin is the one suffering the consequences. Thus ensues a quest: Arthur, Gwaine, Merlin and Aithusa travel to four locations with close ties to magic in order to break the curse, and on the way, Arthur begins to right his wrongs and finally takes the time to listen to what Merlin has to say.





	Hello, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the mods over on LJ! This is my first Big Bang fic, and therefore the longest thing I have ever written. It's quite satisfying to see it all here, finally done! And thank you, [ DYlogger ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DYlogger/pseuds/DYlogger), for the awesome artwork! I love your style, and the title illustration is so charming.
> 
> And for some reason, [ EachPeachPearPlum ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum) thanked me for letting her be a part of this whole shebang, even though I had so many grammar mistakes and weird phrasings and bits from the wrong drafts. Your help was amazing and you were always so thorough and honestly I have no idea what kind of mess I would be posting if you didn't help me whip it into shape. Thank you, Victoria!
> 
> And thank you to everyone still hanging around in the Merlin fandom! It's so wonderful to be here <3

        Gwaine is lying on his back, the sun peeking through the leaves and branches overhead. He can’t remember how he got here, nor why; he can hear shrill laughter, the hissing of a snake, and agonized screams.

 

        He’s numb, detached – hovering between what was and what is. No matter how much he tries, he can’t move. He feels the strain of his muscles, his limbs shaking in a vain attempt to get up. His heart quickens, and his lungs contract with the effort of inhaling enough oxygen.

 

        A twig snaps from somewhere behind him, and Gwaine immediately stops struggling.  He tries to see who’s coming, but his head can’t tilt to look that far.

 

“Gwaine.” Merlin appears in front of him, kneeling at his side, hands reaching to cup Gwaine’s face. “Gwaine.

 

        You promised me, Gwaine. You were supposed to look after yourself.” The laughter and the hissing and the screams are retreating into the background; Gwaine’s vision is tunneling. He searches for something familiar, and he stops when he finds Merlin’s eyes, their focus already on Gwaine. He tries to convey how sorry he is, how much he wants to be able to go back with Merlin. Merlin brushes Gwaine’s hair back, then repeats, keeping his touch constant and soothing.

 

“No. No, Gwaine, I’m going to help you,” Merlin whispers. “You’re going to come home with me.”

 

        Merlin’s eyes are molten gold: two single stars in an overwhelming night. They’re a beacon that Gwaine holds onto until he can’t any longer.

 

        Gwaine doesn’t know for how long he’s in the darkness. The pain rises and falls like the tide, and in moments of respite, it’s Merlin’s voice that anchors him. Gwaine listens to him talk of magic and dragons and Once and Future Kings; of farm boys running through fields and climbing trees, and of ladies in lakes guarding swords made of magic and dragon fire. He hangs on to Merlin’s voice with everything he is worth, because if there is one thing that Gwaine would live for, more than anything, it’s Merlin.  

 

        The darkness has taken on a golden hue, and warmth seeps back into the cracks of his soul, mending and soothing.

 

        He’s coming home.

***

        Gwaine comes into awareness slowly; the warm glow of candlelight fills his vision, oranges and reds and yellows fade into focus to reveal a sleeping Merlin. Gwaine’s lungs still feel constricted, his muscles still tremble with the effort of simply _being,_ and yet the sight of Merlin works wonders on calming him, just like he expects it to. He tries to twist so that he can get a better look at Merlin, but before he manages to turn completely on his side, he lets out a hiss of pain. Merlin startles awake, and at first, Gwaine can tell that Merlin is confused from being swept out of whatever dreams he had been having. But as soon as his eyes find Gwaine, the clouds of confusion in his eyes clear, and he slumps back into his chair. His face breaks into a smile, threatening to split his face in half.

 

“Gwaine.”

 

“Hello, sweetheart.”

 

        At that, Merlin quirks a brow, but his smile softens into something more intimate, something that makes Gwaine’s stomach do some funny flips, and he gestures with his hand for Merlin to come closer. Merlin scrapes his chair across the floor, and before sitting down he makes sure to pull the covers up again, since all of Gwaine’s shuffling had twisted them down his body. Gwaine gives a small smile at that; _always taking care of others, my Merlin._

 

“How’re you feeling?”

 

        Gwaine tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a cough. “Like I lost a fight in every tavern in the entire kingdom. In one night.”

 

        Merlin barks a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And that’s probably an understatement. The nathair is a vicious creature, Gwaine, and one you probably wouldn’t have survived if you weren’t brought back to Camelot so soon.” Merlin’s eyes darken with an emotion Gwaine isn’t familiar associating with him. “I was worried about you.”

 

        Gwaine watches Merlin for a few minutes before reaching out from under the blanket to find his hand, holding it in his own. Merlin lowers his gaze to look at their hands, a futile attempt at hiding his distress. Gwaine squeezes his hand.

 

“I…” Gwaine starts, not recognizing his own voice for how quiet it is, not wanting to ruin this moment that he feels is so well deserved, one that should have happened (perhaps under happier circumstances) ages ago. “I heard you.”

 

        Merlin looks up from their hands, a quizzical expression on his face. “You heard what, Gwaine?”

 

        Gwaine swallows, suddenly feeling scared about what he is going to say. Gwaine knows from what Merlin had been talking about while he was barely conscious that _Merlin_ was even more frightened, but he needs Merlin to know that he knew; that he isn’t scared of Merlin, isn’t upset with him, could _never_ be upset with him.

 

“I… heard you talking. While you took care of me. I heard everything, Merlin.”

 

        Merlin goes still, the hand that had been holding his, the thumb that had been rubbing circles on the back of Gwaine’s hand, stops, and slips from between his fingers. Merlin is shaking his head, pulling away, moving to stand.

 

“No, Merlin, please. Listen to me, Merlin, before you leave, alright, sweetheart? Merlin, just listen, just listen to what I have to say.”

 

        Merlin stops, but he doesn’t sit down. Most wouldn’t have been able to see how distressed he was in that moment, but Gwaine has been watching closer than even Arthur (although a recent discovery would prove that _no one_ had really been looking close _enough_ ). It’s in the set of his shoulders, the way his feet are turned away, ready to run; it’s in his silence, his anxiety overpowering his natural need to chatter.

 

“Come closer, Merlin. I can’t get out of bed, and I don’t have the energy to speak very loud.” Gwaine lets a small smile grace his lips when Merlin cautiously makes his way back to the chair.

 

        Merlin doesn’t say anything, and he refuses to meet Gwaine’s eyes. At one point, Gwaine worries that he’ll fall back to sleep before either of them manage to say anything.

 

“So, everything, huh?” Merlin still hasn’t looked up from where he is staring intently at his hands in his lap, but by the tone of his voice, he isn’t as frightened any more.

 

“Yes, everything. And none of it matters to me, Merlin. You must know that. Not that you have magic, that you _are_ magic, that you kept it from me –”

 

“That I _lied_ to you.”

 

“No, Merlin. Well, sure you had to come up with a few fantastical excuses every now and then, but it was all just so that you could _survive_ , Merlin. I would never begrudge that of you, ever.”

 

        Merlin deflates. His shoulders slump, his hands go limp, and his breath comes out in a heavy sigh. “You should.”

 

“And why is that, Merlin?”

 

“There are so many people I’ve killed, Gwaine. Only ever for Camelot, for _Arthur,_ I _swear,_ but there are so many innocent people that have gotten caught up in all of this, so many people that I love have _died_ , so many I could have saved –”

 

        Merlin looks up at Gwaine with tears falling freely down his face, his speech impaired by breaths coming too quick and too short, and Gwaine can see the panic from earlier making a comeback with a vengeance. He reaches for Merlin’s hand again, and squeezes tight enough that Gwaine is sure both of them can feel the pain.

 

“Merlin, you can’t do this to yourself. Yes, you made mistakes, Merlin, but _you fixed them._ You _grieve_ for them. In every impossible fight, when faced with an impossible choice, you have always, _always_ , done your best. And for that, Merlin, you are the kindest, bravest, most noble man I have ever known.”

 

        Merlin’s breathing has evened out, but the tears continue their descent in silence. Gwaine changes his grip on Merlin’s hand so that their fingers are twined together. “There is nothing you could ever do, nothing that you could _have ever done_ , that would change how I feel about you, Merlin. You are my first friend, my closest friend, my truest friend. Nothing could change that.”

 

        Merlin smiles at their interlocked fingers, sniffling, eyes bright. “I guess I must have done something right, somewhere, some _time_ , to have a friend like you, Gwaine.”

 

“Ah, pish! Now you’re just teasing.” But Gwaine is smiling, anyways. Merlin returns his smile and gives his hand a gentle squeeze. But his eyes darken and his expression suddenly dims, a slight frown creating a wrinkle between his brows. “Merlin?”

 

“I – I’m scared, Gwaine. I’m terrified. Arthur hasn’t looked at me since we came back, I’ve locked myself in the physician’s chambers, my magic, _my magic,_ _Gwaine,_ –”

 

“Merlin.” The distress and fear in Merlin’s eyes breaks Gwaine’s heart, but he doesn’t know what he could say, what he could do, what would ease his pain. All he _wants_ to do is find Arthur, shake him, yell at him, tell him _look at Merlin, look at how much he’s hurting,_ but knows that right now, that wouldn’t solve anything.

 

“My whole life, Gwaine. I’ve kept it secret my whole life, and now it’s – not. Sure, Arthur might not have told anyone, but he can’t keep quiet forever.”

 

“He would never hurt you, Merlin.”

 

        A look of pure desperation flashes across his face, before he turns his head away, hidden from Gwaine’s view. “I know. I know that he would never hurt me, not now. But I never wanted to make him make that choice. And now he has to.”

 

        And like an arrow released from a bow, anger pierces his chest, straight and sure with enough force to lift Gwaine from his position lying on the bed. He looks Merlin in the eye, and tells him with as much emotion and conviction he can muster: “Never, Merlin, _never_ blame yourself for what’s happened. You saved thousands of lives at Camlann, and if Arthur even _hesitates_ in making his choice, then I’m serving the wrong King.”

 

“You know it’s not that easy, Gwaine. Not when it comes to magic.”

 

“But it can be: he’s the King. He can do whatever the hell he wants.”

 

        Merlin looks at Gwaine with an expression so kind and gentle that Gwaine is sure, no matter if Merlin actually _had_ been teasing, that he must have done something right in his life to have someone look at him like that. Like _Gwaine’_ s the one with the great destiny, like he can level mountains with a wave of his hand and hold audiences with magical, immortal kings. Merlin’s hand that wasn’t clasped tightly in Gwaine’s lifts from his lap to brush the hair out Gwaine’s face, and then continues to comb through it, the motion soothing and intimate and somehow familiar; it’s everything Gwaine could have wanted in that moment.

 

“If Arthur asked me to leave, if he banished me from Camelot, what would you do?”

 

        Gwaine smiles, because _this_ question he knows the answer to. He’s known the answer for months, and he knows that even in the dim candlelight that Merlin will be able to see the assurance and confidence in his smile, the twinkle of adoration in his eyes.

 

“I’d go with you.”

***

        The next time Gwaine wakes up, the physician’s chambers are bright with the midday sun; Gaius is still nowhere in sight, but Merlin is sitting at the table, a frown on his face as he studies a book spread open on the table. Next to him, towels are folding themselves into neat piles on the wooden surface.

 

“Good morning.” Merlin looks up from his chore, and his face breaks into a wide smile. He turns and grabs a bowl that Gwaine didn’t noticed before, and brings it over to him.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead. I saved you some food.” Merlin presents him with a bowl of cold broth, and Gwaine cringes away from it.

 

“That’s not Gaius’ broth, is it?”

 

        Merlin’s eyes crinkle in amusement, and then they flash starlight and the bowl of broth is steaming again, as if it had only been poured from the pot a minute ago. “It is, but _now_ it tastes like apple pie.”

 

        Gwaine’s eyes widen and he doesn’t bother trying to hide his excitement. “No.”

 

        Merlin laughs, and moves to brush some hair away from Gwaine’s face, the bowl balances precariously on Merlin’s lap. “Come on, you need to sit up so that you can try it for yourself.”

 

        Merlin pushes an arm behind Gwaine’s shoulders, and lifts him gently from the mattress, pulling him upwards so that he can sit up comfortably. Merlin takes out another pillow from under the patient’s bed and stacks it on top of the one that Gwaine had already been using for him to lean back on. Once settled, Merlin moves the bowl from his lap to Gwaine’s, and with a look, silently asks if Gwaine needs help serving himself. Gwaine is grateful that Merlin doesn’t voice the question aloud (because there is only so much his pride can take, really, even if it _is_ Merlin taking care of him), but he appreciates the thought as he shakes his head in reply.

 

“Where is Gaius, anyways? I’ve noticed he’s not here.”

 

        Merlin nods, sitting back in his chair. “He’s gone to do some rounds in the lower town. I told him you woke up last night; he’ll want to check on you when he gets back.”

 

        Gwaine hums in acknowledgement, and Merlin brings his knees up as his feet rest on the rung of the chair, and watches Gwaine as he eats. He smiles when he sees Gwaine’s eyes widen at the taste of the broth, as Gwaine laughs with childlike glee. Merlin rests his head on his knees, and stays silent as Gwaine eats his broth. When finished, he catches Merlin’s eye and his brow deepens into a frown. “Merlin? You alright?”

 

        Merlin lets a small smile play at his lips, and gives a short nod of his head. He gets up and takes the bowl carefully from Gwaine’s grip, and places a kiss to Gwaine’s temple. He returns the bowl to its place on the table, and turns to get two buckets of water from near the fireplace. The towels from the table levitate, and follow Merlin back to his place at the side of Gwaine’s bed. “It’s just…complicated,” he sighs, “ _Everything_ is complicated. And it’s exhausting.”

 

        With another flash of gold, Gwaine’s tunic lifts from his torso and folds itself neatly at the end of his bed. Gwaine quirks a brow, “Handy, that.”

 

        Merlin smacks Gwaine’s arm, but he cracks a smile, and Gwaine accepts the small victory with a smile of his own. “Hush. Just let me work.”

 

“Hmm, yes. _Work._ ” That earns Gwaine another smack, but Merlin is already focusing on Gwaine’s wounds, pulling away bandages and checking how well they were healing, using a cloth dipped in the warm water to clean and wipe away any sweat that had accumulated overnight. Gwaine relaxes as Merlin handles him, enjoying the feeling of Merlin’s slow and gentle hands. “Tell me something, then. Something that’s _not_ complicated.”

 

        Merlin sits back and studies Gwaine for a moment, his head tilted to the side, a thoughtful look on his face, before moving to bring his chair to the head of Gwaine’s bed. Gwaine frowns in confusion when he feels Merlin pull the pillows out from behind him, keeping a steady hand between Gwaine’s shoulders to stop him from falling backwards, and watches Merlin’s face as he is slowly lowered back onto the mattress. He gently pulls Gwaine’s body towards him, so that Gwaine’s head is hanging over the top of the bed frame. Merlin holds him there, and with his free hand, he drags the other bucket of water closer so that it is sitting underneath Gwaine’s head.

 

        When Gwaine realizes what Merlin is doing, he settles in comfortably, pleasure and warmth blossoming in his chest at all of the pampering he is receiving, but raises a knowing eyebrow at him. “Even though you know that having my hair washed is a weakness of mine, don’t think that it lets you get out of talking.”

 

        Merlin smiles and shakes his head. “I’m just thinking. I’m not really used to talking about it, and last time I talked about it…Arthur couldn’t even _look_ at me. He wanted to send me away. He was _angry_ , rightfully so, and –”

 

“Merlin, sweetheart –”

 

“I couldn’t, I just couldn’t handle it, him being so obviously _disgusted_ with me.”

 

“Merlin.” Gwaine had already heard all of this while he was stranded in the dark, when Merlin’s voice was the only light guiding him back home. “That sounds like it’s complicated.”

 

        Merlin stops short, and blink owlishly at Gwaine, eyes wide. He quickly looks away, colour burning his cheeks, sniffling. “Sorry.”

 

        Gwaine sighs, and reaches up and behind him to rest a hand on Merlin’s thigh. “It’s okay, love.”

 

        Magic holds the pitcher above Gwaine’s head, and water slowly pours over Gwaine’s hair. Merlin brings the bar of soap to a lather between his palms, watching Gwaine with a soft expression. Gwaine closes his eyes as Merlin’s fingers began massaging his scalp. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Merlin focusing solely on his task, fingers combing the soap from his hair and gently steering any stray suds away from Gwaine’s eyes.

 

“I’m a Dragonlord. I don’t know if perhaps I mentioned it while I was talking, or maybe you put it together when I was at Camlann, but-”

 

        Gwaine opens his eyes and barks a laugh, because _of course Merlin is a bloody Dragonlord._ “Merlin, how is that _not_ _complicated?_ ”

 

        Merlin smiles at him, pouring another pitcher full of water onto his hair. “It isn’t. It just is what it is.”

 

        Merlin finishes rinsing Gwaine’s hair, and pulls a towel from the hovering piles floating next to him. “So, you remember when Borden came to Camelot? And he stole the last piece of the Triskelion from the vaults?”

 

        Gwaine remembers it clear as day, the tower crumbling like sand, Merlin running out of the cloud of dust, a smile on his face and Gwaine’s heart thumping in panic. “Yes.”

 

“And we followed him to the tower, to stop him from finding the dragon egg.”

 

        Realization dawns on Gwaine, and he pushes Merlin’s hands away from his head to give him an incredulous look. Merlin gives him a sheepish smile, and Gwaine moans, “Merlin, you didn’t!” And he is laughing, _again,_ filled to the brim with happiness and pride, and a little bit of concern, because _oh, the stories you will tell me, Merlin._ “So you managed to save the egg?”

 

“And destroy the tower and defeat Borden.”

 

“All in a day’s work, I suppose.”

 

        Merlin smiles at him, wide and affectionate, and he helps Gwaine return to his position propped up against the pillows once more. With a word from Merlin and a glimmer of gold, the towels and buckets and soaps all fly across the room to their rightful place, and Merlin is back at Gwaine’s side, holding his hand in his.

 

“I hatched it. Later that night.”

 

“What does that mean? Don’t dragons just hatch like any other reptile?”

 

        Merlin shakes his head, “No, dragons need a Dragonlord to call them into the world with a name.”

 

        Gwaine thinks back to when this happened, about how often Merlin couldn’t be found within the castle walls, about the questionable excuses he would give, but how no one really cared because of how obviously excited he was. Most people thought that it was a girl (or a boy, as Gwaine now knows), especially when it just…stopped. Merlin didn’t go out as often, and there was a hard set to his shoulders for days.

 

        It had been just about four years ago, now – so many things had happened since then, it was almost surreal to think that it had been in the same lifetime. Morgana taking Camelot, Ismere, Camlann…and Gwaine’s breath catches in his throat. He turns to Merlin, a beseeching look on his face. “The White Dragon?”

 

“ _Aithusa.”_

 

        When Merlin says the name, his voice deepens into something more of a growl, from deep within his chest, and it is rich and full of magic and something _old_. “That’s her name. It means “hope” in the tongue of dragons.”

 

        Gwaine can tell from Merlin’s expression just how much she means to him, no matter her temporary allegiance to Morgana. And if Merlin can see past that, then Gwaine can see past it, too.

 

“What’s she like?” Merlin looks up, clearly surprised that Gwaine is asking, but at Gwaine’s insistence, Merlin’s eyes twinkle and his expression turns fond. Merlin turns Gwaine’s hand face up in his own, and plays his calloused fingertips across the surface of his palm.

 

“She was playful, and kind, and happy. She loved to play hide-and-seek, but she was complete rubbish at it because her scales were so bright and shiny that you could see her anywhere,” Merlin is laughing, and Gwaine tucks the sound away beneath his breast, next to his heart. “But she didn’t really mind. I spent hours playing it with her.

 

“I also taught her how to hunt. Kilgharrah laughed at me, because hunting is completely instinctual to dragons, but I loved spending time with her, and she seemed to enjoy it just as much, so we did it anyways. I think she treated it more as a game, though.”

 

“Kilgharrah?”

 

        Merlin’s flinch is barely noticeable, but it still makes Gwaine pause. “Merlin?”

 

“He’s another dragon. The Great Dragon.”

 

        Gwaine has heard _that_ story before. “Oh, Merlin.”

 

“But that’s another story,” Merlin sighs, and he squeezes Gwaine’s hand. “And not one I want to talk about right now.”

 

        Gwaine watches Merlin, and with a sigh, reaches out to give his neckerchief a tug. “So? What else of the young Aithusa? If I remember correctly, you managed to spend _a lot_ of time away from the castle.”

 

        Merlin’s eyes shine with thanks, and he gives Gwaine’s hand another squeeze. “She liked it when I scratched her horns. And she loved belly rubs more than the palace dogs do, so much so that Kilgharrah was embarrassed on her behalf. Back then she was small enough that at night she would curl up on my chest to sleep.”

 

“It sounds like she was very important to you.”

 

“Is. _Is_ important to me, Gwaine. I know that it’s no excuse, but she’s so young, and I –” Merlin stopped short, and took a shaky breath, refusing to look at Gwaine. “She used to call me _Strýnd._ It means “kin” in her language. Brother, mother, father. Family.”

 

        Gwaine looks at Merlin, and he knows that Merlin loves Aithusa with all his heart. He reaches out his hand to cup Merlin’s face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “I didn’t know.”

 

“That’s the closest thing to what the relationship between dragon and Dragonlord is – kin. I can feel their presence constantly, as they can feel mine. With a little pushing, especially with Aithusa, I can communicate with them no matter the distance.” He pauses to take another deep breath, shoulders slumping as he exhales. “When she was locked up in the oubliette with Morgana for _two years_ , I- I didn’t even _know_. I couldn’t sense her, but I thought it was just because she had gone exploring in other kingdoms. Kilgharrah wasn’t worried, so I didn’t even think that she could have been captured; when they were freed, when I saw her at Ismere, I realized that they must have been using some kind of rune to keep Morgana’s magic at bay, which had probably kept Aithusa from reaching out to me, as well. And I just catch myself thinking about how she _must_ have been calling, for months, until one day she realized I wasn’t coming.”

 

“Merlin, that wasn’t your fault.”

 

        It takes Merlin a few moments to look back up at Gwaine, a self-conscious smile on his face. His hand comes up to cover Gwaine’s, where it is still cupping Merlin’s cheek. “You ask me to tell you something _not_ _complicated_ , and this is what I come up with.”

 

        Gwaine laughs. “You’re just worried about her, that’s all, love.”

 

“I wish I knew whether or not she’s ok. The connection isn’t the same, not since she was held captive. She’s not as responsive, easily frightened.”

 

“You don’t think that she’s more loyal to Morgana?”

 

“No. Aithusa is kind and nurturing by nature. When she found Morgana, injured after she was chased out of Camelot, Aithusa just wanted to help. I’m sure that she loved Morgana, but she doesn’t know the difference between good and bad. She just thought that she was helping a friend.”

 

        Gwaine slips his hand out from underneath Merlin’s and combs through Merlin’s black tangle. “I’m sure that wherever she is, she’s fine. How about once I’m better, and you’ve had a proper rest, we go look for her.”

 

        Merlin’s smile widens, and moving his hands to Gwaine’s chest, he leans forward to press a kiss to Gwaine’s lips. Gwaine brings both his hands up to Merlin’s jaw, his own smile turning their kiss into an awkward crushing of lips and clanging of teeth, but they’re both laughing and Merlin’s hand is warm over Gwaine’s heart.

 

“I would really like that.”

***

        It’s been a full seven days since Merlin and Arthur returned from wherever they had been, and another three since Gwaine woke up. In the days following Gwaine’s awakening, the physician’s chambers have gotten a lot busier. Merlin stays as much as he can by Gwaine’s side, in between running errands for Gaius. Gaius, for his part, is in and out of the chambers, doing his best to treat the rest of the knights coming back from Camlann. Percival visits as much as possible, and Leon comes by a couple of times, as well.

 

        Gwen comes by once. She sits by Gwaine’s bed, and places a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder, a sad smile on her face.

 

        No one says anything about Arthur not coming.

 

        As the days drag on, Gwaine grows more and more frustrated with the king, while Gaius’ lips are in danger of being pressed to oblivion and his brows to disappear into his hair. Even Percival notices the tension in the room, but whether he connects it to Merlin and Arthur, no one knows. Merlin never says anything, his shoulders slumping more and more each day.

 

        Merlin only seems to be relaxed at night, when it is only he and Gwaine, after Gaius retires for the night. Merlin would come to Gwaine, and it usually ends with Merlin sitting on the edge of the bed, with his head lying on Gwaine’s chest. Gwaine would pet Merlin’s hair and ask questions; some serious, but most were completely ridiculous, and Merlin would laugh and answer to the best of his abilities.

 

“Have you ever seen a four-headed pony?”

 

“No! Gwaine, where would I see a four-headed pony?”

 

“Oh, but I’ve seen one.”

 

“At the bottom of your tankard, I’m sure.”

 

“Bah! The most powerful warlock on the face of the earth, a skeptic! Who would have thought?”

 

        On the fourth night, Merlin approaches Gwaine with something like caution, his eyes flashing with nervousness in the firelight. “Merlin? Something wrong, love?”

 

        Merlin sighs, and sits on the stool beside Gwaine’s bed. He shakes his head, and takes Gwaine’s hand. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong, I’m just – nervous.”

 

        Gwaine frowns, and pushes himself further upright on the bed. “I…I know that what I’ve talked to you about, what you’ve heard me talk about isn’t everything – hell, it’s not even close, really, and – and I think that I _want_ to tell you. I _want_ to tell you everything, Gwaine.”

 

        Gwaine shifts in bed, turning so that his legs fall off the side of the bed and his knees are slotted in between Merlin’s. He adjusts his hands so that their fingers twine together, his thumb rubbing the back of Merlin’s hand. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Merlin. Nothing that you don’t want to talk about.”

 

 

        Merlin smiles kindly, and he doesn’t pull away. “No, Gwaine, I want to. I really, really do. I want you to know everything.”

 

“Everything?”

 

“The good, the bad, and the awful.”

 

“The good, the beautiful, the awe-inspiring and the brave.” Gwaine brings a hand up from where it is being held in Merlin’s to cup his face, fingers rubbing playfully at his ear. Merlin leans into the motion, smiling and closing his eyes.

 

“Can you stand?”

 

“Yes, but I won’t be going very far.”

 

“That’s ok, we’re just going to my room.”

 

“And _why_ is _that?_ ” Merlin gives him a light smack on the arm, but his smile doesn’t leave his face. He stands, arms lowered so that they can help pull Gwaine slowly and carefully to his feet. They make their way to Merlin’s room, doing their best not to wake the snoring Gaius, and close the door behind them. Merlin lowers Gwaine onto his bed, Gwaine groaning in pain as he tries to adjust his position so that he can be more comfortable. Merlin sits down next to him, arms cradling Gwaine’s form.

 

“Sorry. Are you alright, Gwaine?”

 

“It’s fine, love. Just have to get used to moving about again.” Merlin gives him a quick smile and brushed a lock of hair from Gwaine’s face. “So, are you going to tell me why we’re in here rather than out there?”

 

        Merlin chews on his lip, looking nervous. “I thought about…how I was going to tell you, how I was going to be _able_ to tell you everything,” Merlin gets up off the bed and walks to the other side of the room, his back to Gwaine, “and it occurred to me that it would be easier if…if I _showed_ it to you, instead.”

 

“Showed it to me? How would you do that, Merlin?”

 

        Instead of replying, Merlin begins to pull off his tunic, his breeches, and his smalls, until he stands completely naked, revealing a too thin body covered in scars.

 

“Merlin?”

 

        It’s more scars than Gwaine could ever imagine: a thick, jagged line tears its way across Merlin’s back, from his right hip to just below his left shoulder blade. His shoulders are speckled with what can only be a mace wound, and to Gwaine’s horror, a circular indentation, surrounded by black, spidery veins, right above the first scar on his right hip. _A serket sting_.

 

        Before Gwaine could see any more on Merlin’s back, he turns to face Gwaine. His front mirrors his back: a great burn spreads across the width of his chest, still red and puckered, although Gwaine knew that it must be old, five years at the least. A sword wound, from his left shoulder and ending at the base of his throat. A stab wound in the stomach, a bolt wound in his side, knife cuts and other, less significant scars spread sporadically: these are similar to the ones Gwaine had on his own body.

 

        His legs are also littered with old scars, although the only one that appears to be as severe as the ones on Merlin’s upper body is an arrow wound, probably from a crossbow, that is a spot of dark discolouration on Merlin’s upper left thigh.

 

        When Gwaine raises his eyes to meet Merlin’s, they’re met with a gaze of molten gold; Merlin’s expression is more vulnerable than Gwaine has ever seen it, but there is also so much trust and love that it makes Gwaine’s heart stutter in his chest. Merlin makes his way over to where Gwaine is still sitting on the bed, and slowly lowers himself into the place next to him. Merlin’s eyes never shift, always meeting Gwaine’s, always the colour of stars.

 

“Touch one. And you’ll _see_.”

 

        Gwaine’s breath catches in his lungs. He looks from Merlin’s face to the chaos of his chest. Gwaine raises his hand, fingers reaching out to touch the burn scar, but stops just a breath away from him. “Merlin, are you sure?”

 

        Merlin cradles Gwaine’s face in his hands, his thumbs stroking Gwaine’s cheeks. “Yes, Gwaine. I’m sure.”

 

        And with a single touch, Gwaine is swept from the room, and thrust into blackness.

***

        _He is on an island of some sort, one that looks vaguely familiar. Gwaine, as Merlin, steps from the small boat onto a muddy shore, tension and anxiety and fear knotting and tightening his gut._

 

_And altar comes into view, standing alone in a clearing, surrounded by great stone ruins._

 

_Gwaine realizes that he is on the Isle of the Blessed._

 

_Another look makes him realize that Gaius is splayed on the ground, leaning against the altar. There is a woman standing over him, a cup held up to the heavens. It’s obvious to Gwaine that Gaius is dead._

 

_Gwaine feels Merlin’s rage and his pain shatter his core, feels his magic burn through his lungs. The woman turns, and while Gwaine has never encountered this woman before, he knows that she is Nimueh, High Priestess of the Old Religion._

 

_Any exchange of words is lost to Gwaine as they begin to duel, throwing curse after curse after curse. He sees Nimueh send a blast of fire at Merlin, and he can’t dodge in time. He hears Merlin’s scream, he smells the burning flesh, but he feels nothing, stuck in the vision only as a witness._

 

_But still, it continues. Merlin and Gwaine stand, and the air is tingling with magic, the sky darkening with an oncoming storm. Gwaine feels something shift in Merlin, feels something slot into place. It swells inside of him, until Gwaine thinks that Merlin will burst from trying to keep the raw power of it contained. Merlin raises his hand to the skies, and the clouds gather, releasing a single bolt of lightning, driven down to the earth, guided by Merlin’s power._

 

_Nimueh screams, contorting in the heat of the pure energy, and disintegrates, a pile of ash left to be blown away with the wind._

 

_They make their way to Gaius, ignoring the destruction around them, and collapse on the ground next to Merlin’s guardian. It starts to rain, and Merlin closes his eyes, lost to the rest of the world._

_***_

        Gwaine is brought back to the present, back to Merlin’s room, breathing hard. He looks up to Merlin’s face, meeting eyes that are still glowing with magic. “What was that?”

 

“That was my battle against Nimueh. I fought her about nine years ago, barely a year after I came to Camelot.”

 

“You killed her.”

 

        Merlin nods. “And by defeating her, I gained the power over life and death. I was able to trade her life for Gaius’.”

 

        Gwaine contemplates that information for a moment, until something else occurs to him: “Why did you need to fight her in the first place, Merlin?”

 

“Arthur had been bitten by the Questing Beast. I made a deal with Nimueh to trade my life for his, but she betrayed me.”

 

“For Arthur.”

 

        Merlin’s head tilts slightly, a sad smile on his face. “For Arthur,” he whispers.

 

        Gwaine looks back to Merlin’s chest, dread a heavy weight in his gut. His hands hover over Merlin, not touching, being held back by a new sense of fear. “There are so many.”

 

        Merlin’s hands find Gwaine’s, and he nestles them to his chest. Gwaine almost flinches at the contact, not wanting to be brought back into the vision of the Isle. “It’s ok, Gwaine. I’m right here.”

 

        So Gwaine takes a deep breath, and plunges back into the darkness, to swords and sorcerers and serkets and fire.

 

        And whenever Gwaine is pulled back to the present, Merlin is there, whole and solid and _safe_ , with arms wide open, waiting for Gwaine.

***

        Gwaine wakes to the sound of a throat being cleared, loudly, and he groans, trying to curl tighter into Merlin’s side and bury himself deeper in their nest of blankets. “Merlin, what is it? Go back to sleep, love.”

 

        “Oh, yes, please, don’t mind me. I was just wondering whether the two of you wanted any breakfast.”

 

        Gwaine immediately blinks awake, and finds himself looking up at Gaius from where he is spread across Merlin’s bare chest, himself being in a similar state of undress. Gwaine feels Merlin’s arms slip away from around his waist to snake out from under the blankets and hide his face, which doesn’t do anything to hide the embarrassed flush to his chest, much to Gwaine’s amusement. “Gaius! You can leave, we’ll be down for breakfast in ten minutes!”

 

        “Hmm, alright,” Gaius raises an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “But Merlin, know that Gwaine _is_ a patient, make sure not to crush him, or to _overwork_ him. He _is_ still susceptible to further injuries, –”

 

“Gaius!” Merlin hasn’t removed his hands from his face, and Gwaine is rolling over in the bed, laughing.

 

“Alright, alright, just make sure you do come down sooner rather than later.” Gaius shuts the door behind him, and his low chuckling can be heard through the wooden panels.

 

“That was completely mortifying.” Merlin moves his hands and rolls onto his side, dumping Gwaine from his chest so that they are almost nose to nose. Gwaine smiles at him brightly, and brushes their lips together.

 

        Merlin watches Gwaine, his eyes roaming his face; Gwaine feels them trace a path down his nose, across his cheek, along his jaw, stopping at his mouth. Gwaine swallows, and his breath is much shakier than he would have ever admitted it to be. Merlin’s hands are ghosting along Gwaine’s sides, his ribs, his shoulders, and Gwaine feels Merlin’s hips shift ever so slightly –

 

“ _Merlin_. These are not the actions of a man who just claimed to be completely mortified.”

 

Merlin is nipping Gwaine’s jaw, nosing his ear, bringing himself chest to chest with Gwaine. “You don’t seem to be very upset about that,” Merlin breathes into Gwaine’s neck, and Gwaine can feel the smirk against his skin.

 

“Ah, yes, I suppose, but Gaius _did_ say not to overwork –”

 

“ _Gwaine._ ”

 

“– and we _do_ only have ten minutes, no help from you _–_ ”

 

        Merlin lets out a frustrated growl, making Gwaine laugh, until he is quickly rolled onto his back, Merlin holding himself above him. His eyes burn gold, and suddenly all other noise is dulled, and Gwaine’s sight seems to focus only on Merlin; he feels separated from reality, like he and Merlin just slipped into their own pocket of time. His skin tingles with magic, and his body shudders at its new sensitivity. “Merlin?”

 

        Merlin kisses him, and brings his body down on Gwaine, nerves set alight by the skin on skin contact. “Now we have all the time in the world,” he whispers.

***

        Over the next few days, Merlin and Gwaine fall into place with each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. Gaius teases the two of them relentlessly, but he knows how much it means to the two of them to have found this comfort in each other. He speaks repeatedly about how tiring it will be to have to worry about yet _another_ reckless ward in his care, and Gwaine always incredulously exclaims that he _is_ a grown man and Gaius should not need to worry about him, but Merlin can tell that it makes Gwaine happy, and that’s enough to warm Merlin’s heart.

 

        Gwaine is healing quickly now, but he still has to spend most of his time in the cushioned chair by the fireplace. He is spending as much time as he can between resting helping Merlin and Gaius with their physician’s duties, mixing concoctions and making poultices. Merlin stays with them, occasionally running errands for Gaius and collecting herbs. He doesn’t return to work for Arthur.

 

        Gwaine tries to bring it up with Merlin on multiple occasions, but Merlin won’t have it. He won’t talk about Arthur, not unless Arthur comes to talk to him first. Gwaine can tell that it’s taking a toll on Merlin, no matter how much he tries to appear chipper. Gaius never says anything, only watching Merlin when he thinks Merlin wasn’t looking, a somber expression on his face.

 

        Percival is a frequent visitor, and he is endlessly amused by Merlin and Gwaine’s flirtations. Even more so when Leon comes with him, because Leon is completely oblivious to it, even when Gwaine pulls Merlin right onto his lap when they sit together in Gwaine’s cushiony chair (the patient’s cot, Percival noticed, appears to not have been slept in for days).

 

        Gwen comes a couple of times, but her visits are very tense; she tries to comfort Merlin, but she can’t go against Arthur, either. “Just give him time, Merlin. He’ll come around.”

 

        Gwaine doesn’t know how Gwen had figured out about Merlin’s magic, but he’s glad that she is trying to steer Arthur in the right direction.

 

        That he needs directing at all, however, is pissing Gwaine off.

 

        One afternoon finds Gwaine and Gaius alone in the physician’s chambers. Merlin is off collecting some herbs, and Percival and Leon are at a Council meeting.

 

        Gwaine is helping Gaius clean some old jars and laying them out in the table to dry. He shifts a little on the bench, trying to come up with a way to bring up what he has on his mind.

 

        But Gaius has always been more astute than anyone gives him credit for, so without lifting his head from his work, he sighs, “What is it, Gwaine?”

 

“I, uh, actually, I have a favour to ask, Gaius.”

 

        Gaius raises an eyebrow, “And what is that?”

 

“Well, actually, it’s something I want to do for Merlin.”

 

“Oh?”

***

        Ten days after Gwaine wakes up, Arthur summons Merlin to his chambers. Merlin freezes, and drops the plate he’s holding into the basin he’s using to wash it. Gaius thanks the page who brought them the message, and requests that he tell the king that Merlin will be on his way shortly. As Gaiusgoes to shut the door behind the page, Gwaine gets up and makes his way over to Merlin. He grabs a fresh towel on his way over, and gently takes Merlin’s hands in his own and begins to dry them. Merlin’s expression is neutral, but Gwaine feels his hands shaking ever so slightly.

 

“Merlin? Merlin, love, it’s going to be fine.”

 

        Merlin bites his lip and looks up so that their eyes meet. He shakes his head and sniffles, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. “You’re right. Thinking has always been hard for Arthur; ten days is fairly quick, all things considered.”

 

        Gwaine presses a kiss to Merlin’s mouth, smiling, “That’s the spirit, love. Gaius and I will be waiting here for when you get back.”

 

        Merlin returns his smile, and pecks Gwaine on his lips, his cheek, his ear. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

 

        Gaius comes over and places a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “We’ll have supper ready for whenever you return.”

 

“Thank you.” And with that, Merlin leaves them alone in the physician’s chambers.

 

        Gwaine waits until the door is closed behind Merlin, until he can no longer hear Merlin’s footsteps retreating down the hall. He throws the towel into the wash basin, and sits down hard on the bench. He rubs his face with his hands, wringing a frustrated growl from his throat. Gaius sighs and sits next to him, hands clasped in his lap.

 

“Arthur will do the right thing. He just needed time to think things through.”

 

“But this long? I mean, surely he understands that Merlin _had_ to keep his magic a secret, right?”

 

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But know that it was the right thing to do, to tell Arthur about his magic. It was time. What happens now is up to Arthur.”

 

“And we have to wait here. For God knows how long.”

 

        Gaius heaves a breath, bouncing his hands in his lap. A small, knowing smile creeps across Gaius’ face. “That’s what happens when you care about Merlin, Gwaine. You wait. And you hope for the best.”

***

        It’s barely an hour before Merlin comes back. Gwaine is back to resting by the fire, and Gaius is preparing dinner. Only Gaius looks up when the door opens, as both of them are just believing it to be a patient. Gwaine doesn’t move from his spot by the fire, leaving his head in his hands, shoulders tense and back stiff.

 

“Merlin?”

 

        Gwaine turns immediately. _Surely it’s too early for Merlin to be back? It’s barely been a full candle mark!_ But it _is_ Merlin, and there’s a small frown on his face, looking dazed enough for Gwaine to be concerned. “Merlin?”

 

        Merlin closes his eyes, and shakes his head.  Gaius goes to him immediately, pulling Merlin tightly to him. “Oh, my boy. I’m so sorry.”

 

        At first, it doesn’t really sink in for Gwaine. It occurs to him that he had never _truly_ thought that Arthur wouldn’t accept Merlin.  Sure, they worried, but it was supposed to be an irrational fear, something that came with years of having to keep a secret, and then being completely relieved and feeling somewhat silly for ever thinking that your _best fucking friend_ would turn on you.

 

        But that is what has happened. Arthur has turned away from Merlin. Gwaine feels the rage burning under his skin, and he tries to keep his voice steady when he comes up to Merlin. “What happened? Did he banish you?” _Did he sentence you to death?_

 

        Merlin runs his hands up and down Gwaine’s arms. “No, no. Nothing like that, Gwaine.”

 

        Gwaine takes Merlin’s face in his hands, and asks, beseeching, “Then _what?_ Merlin, love, what’s _wrong?_ ”

 

        Merlin’s eyes are wide and full of sorrow, hand through them, Gwaine can see the burden of destiny that he’s taken upon himself. His eyes never leaves Gwaine’s face, but he when he speaks, it’s not to him. “Gaius, I think that I’m just going to rest. I…I don’t really want to talk about it right now, but I promise I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

 

        Gwaine sees from over Merlin’s shoulder that Gaius nods, and hears him sigh. “Then get some rest. I’ll leave food out if you wake up hungry in the night.”

 

“Thank you, Gaius.”

        Gaius walks over to them, and runs his hand over Merlin’s hair, and pats his cheek. “Anything for you, Merlin. My boy.”

 

        Merlin watches Gaius return to the table where he continues to prepare dinner. He’s quiet for a minute or two, before Gwaine feels the tell-tale tickle of magic along his skin. Merlin’s eyes aren’t gold, but he can hear him in his mind. _Come and stay with me?_

 

        Gwaine smiles and reaches for Merlin’s hand to give it a squeeze. Merlin leads him by the hand up to his rooms ( _their_ rooms, Gwaine supposes), and  Merlin closes the door behind him with a single wave of his hand.  Merlin helps Gwaine get comfortable on the bed before leaning down to pull off both of their boots. He pushes them under the bed, and takes off his jacket only to toss it blindly to the other side of the room, where it probably finds its place on the floor. Merlin crawls under the covers to join Gwaine, pressing himself along the length of his body, tangling their legs together and nuzzling his face into the side of Gwaine’s neck.

 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

 

        Merlin is silent, focusing on his breathing, his fingers drawing mindless patterns across Gwaine’s chest. He noses Gwaine’s ear and sighs, his breath sending a shiver down Gwaine’s spine.

 

“He…didn’t say anything. He told me to not tell anyone that I’m a sorcerer, to not use magic, to stay hidden. To keep lying.”

 

        Gwaine turns his head as much as he can in his position, to get a look at Merlin’s face. “But that can’t be everything. He didn’t ask about any of the things you’ve done for him?”

 

        Merlin shakes his head. “I was just…hoping that it would be over. That I wouldn’t have to hide anymore, that I would be done keeping secrets. That Arthur would begin to change the laws on magic.”

 

Gwaine feels the tears soaking his tunic before he sees them. “No, no no no, love, shh. It’s ok. It’ll be ok. Princess will come around.”

 

“I had to tell him about my magic, Gwaine. _I had to._ But if that wasn’t the right time, then what is? How will I know when Arthur’s ready to deal with magic, to see it for what it is?

 

“It was so hard, keeping it from everyone, living here where I watched countless innocent people burn at the stake, where _I_ was almost burned at the stake,” Gwaine pulls Merlin’s body so that he is lying across Gwaine’s chest, not at his side. He rubs soothing circles into his back. “I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

 

“Anywhere you go, Merlin, I’ll go with you. I’m going to stay with you. Always, Merlin.”

 

        Merlin blinks heavily, and his breathing is slowing down and deepening. _He’s tired himself out._ Gwaine presses a kiss to Merlin’s temple, and pulls the blankets up to cover his shoulders. “Go to sleep, love. We can talk more tomorrow.”

 

        Merlin hums, and Gwaine feels a tingling warmth spread across his chest from where Merlin’s hand rests above his heart. _Thank you_. Two more kisses to Merlin’s hair, and Gwaine closes his eyes to sleep.

***

        Arthur storms into the physician’s chambers the next morning. Gaius looks up with a disapproving frown, placing his pestle on the table to pause his work.

 

“Good morning, Sire.”

 

“Morning, Gaius. Where’s Merlin? Why didn’t he bring me breakfast?”

 

        Gaius looks at Arthur incredulously, and realizing that the Prince is being serious, shakes his head and returns to work.

 

“Gaius? Where is he? He’s not _still in bed,_ is he? It’s almost noon! And where’s Gwaine? He is still staying here, isn’t he?”

 

        Gaius sighs, and looks back up at Arthur in irritation. “He _is_ still sleeping, Sire, and if he needs to rest for the whole day, then that is what will happen. Gwaine is also still asleep, and he is with Merlin. Merlin was quite upset yesterday, and Gwaine spent much of the evening talking with him.”

 

“Upset? Why would he be upset?”

 

        Gaius looks at Arthur in disbelief, “Arthur, he is upset about what happened between the two of you yesterday.”

 

“Gaius, surely you don’t believe that _I_ am in the wrong here? _Merlin_ is the one who’s been breaking laws. I’m grateful for everything he’s done for me and for Camelot, but I cannot do anything to change the laws. Magic is banned, and it keeps people safe.”

 

“Sire, you _are_ aware that Merlin had no choice in his magic, aren’t you?”

 

“Gaius, that can’t possibly be true. Sure, children can learn magic, but no one is _born_ with it.”

 

        Gaius presses his lips together, a concerned frown wrinkling his brow. He bows his head, “Of course, Sire. But I will request that you give Merlin a few more days off, and I will make sure that he is back to work in two days’ time.”

 

        Arthur nods, “Thank you, Gaius.” He doesn’t close the door behind him.

 

        Gaius lowers his head, leaning heavily on the table. He looks at Merlin’s closed door, wondering if they are awake, if they heard the exchange between he and Arthur. _Only one way to find out, I suppose._

 

        Thankfully, they are both still asleep. Gaius almost lets them continue sleeping, but he knows that it’s more important that they talk about what happened between Merlin and Arthur, no matter how much it might upset Merlin. Gaius has an idea of how it happened, given Arthur’s reaction this morning.

 

“Alright, boys, it’s time you got up. It’s already almost noon!”

 

        Gaius shuts the door, smiling at their tired groaning and Merlin’s slurred “Ten more minutes, Gaius!”

***

        Lunch is a quiet affair. Gaius prepares some chicken and some boiled vegetables, and Gwaine occasionally kicks Merlin’s shin under the table from where he sits across from him.

 

        Merlin takes everyone’s plates back to the wash basin, and Gaius sits patiently with his hands in his lap, waiting for Merlin to retake his place at the table. Instead of sitting across from Gwaine, he motions for him to slide down the bench, so that Merlin can sit next to him, touching from shoulder to hip to knee.

 

“Well? Are you going to tell us what happened, Merlin?” Gaius asks, not unkindly, but still it makes Merlin flinch.

 

        Merlin sighs, and takes Gwaine’s hand. “He…didn’t say anything. No, really, Gaius!” Gaius gives Merlin a skeptical look, but Merlin shakes his head. “He didn’t ask me about anything, not about my magic, not about everything I’ve done for him and for Camelot, not –” Merlin heaves another sigh, head falling into his other hand, leaning heavily on the table.

 

“He’s not _ready_ , Gaius. He didn’t listen to anything I had to say; he didn’t _want_ to listen. It didn’t matter that I was trying to tell him the truth; if he’s not ready, he won’t hear it.”

 

        Gaius leans across the table to pat Merlin’s shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I wish that it could have happened differently.”

 

        Merlin nods solemnly, and Gwaine turns so that he is straddling the bench. He leans into Merlin’s space, nudging him with his shoulder. “So? What do we do now, love?”

 

        Merlin turns to look at Gwaine and he shrugs, but his expression is tight with concern and exhaustion. “I guess I just…go back to work. Arthur already assumed that I would be back at work _today_ , so if I put it off any longer he’ll only get irritated.”

 

        Gaius nods in acceptance, expression thoughtful, and Gwaine doesn’t make a sound, only continuing to rub Merlin’s back. They spend some time just sitting there, at the table in silence, until a knock on the door summons Gaius back to his duties as physician. Merlin and Gwaine make their way back to Merlin’s room, keeping each other company for the rest of the afternoon.

***

        The next morning, Merlin rises before the first rays of sun can peek over the lines of the city. Gwaine rolls onto his side, grunting at the stiffness in his shoulders and neck.

 

“Sorry,” Merlin whispers, and brushes his hand down the side of Gwaine’s neck and off his shoulder. It leaves a trail of golden heat, and Gwaine sighs in relief.

 

        Eyes still closed, he smiles in Merlin’s general direction. “Thanks, love.”

 

        Merlin’s fingers brush Gwaine’s cheek, replaces them with his lips, and breathes a _go back to sleep_ into his hair, and Gwaine sinks deeper into their nest of wools and linens, warm and content and asleep before Merlin is out the door.

***

        Gwaine crawls out of bed around the tenth bell, and Gaius is waiting for him at the table. Gwaine huffs, and drops himself with too much force onto the bench, and as he reaches for the bowl of porridge set out for him, Gaius slides it out of the way with a hand much too quick for someone his age, Gwaine thinks. Gaius hands Gwaine a bottle of medicine, one familiar to him, as he’s been taking it every morning with his breakfast for the past however many days, and stays silent as he drinks it.

 

        Screwing up his eyes at the bitter taste, he slams the bottle down and coughs. He peers at Gaius with one squinty eye. “Well? What has you so quiet this morning?” _Besides the obvious, I suppose._ Merlin’s absence is almost tangible; they feel it like a heavy cloak draped over their shoulders, an anxiety so thick and heavy it makes them squirm.

 

        Even so, Gaius gives him a small, encouraging smile. “He’ll be fine. He can take care of himself, no matter how much we worry about him here.”

 

        Gwaine hums, and pulls the porridge closer to him. He stirs it without purpose, and Gaius chuckles from the other side of the table. Gwaine looks up. “What is it?”

 

        Gaius pulls a piece of paper from his robe; one that is folded neatly and has the image of the druid symbol in one of the corners. Gwaine reaches for it immediately, and Gaius gives it up gladly, eyes twinkling.

 

“When did this come?” Gwaine unfolded the paper quickly, eyes scanning the contents of the letter as fast as possible. He hadn’t expected to hear news this soon, but he’s not going to complain.

 

“It came this morning, after I came back from my morning rounds. A young Druid boy delivered it this morning.”

 

“A Druid boy?”

 

“It’s easiest for the children to sneak in, even if the Druids are not actively being persecuted anymore. And he can just tell anyone else that he’s going to fetch medicine for his parents, if anyone asks.”

 

“I suppose.” But at that point, Gwaine is only half listening. The news brought to him in the contents of the letter is better than he could have ever hoped, and he shovels down his porridge without care. He pushes the bench from the table and heads back to Merlin’s bedroom.

 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Gaius has also gotten up from his seat at the table, and he is looking at Gwaine with a disbelieving brow quirked high enough to make Gwaine pause and grimace.

 

“To find a dragon?”

 

        Gaius sighs, and gestures for Gwaine to come back to the table. Reluctantly, Gwaine abandons his move for his pack and returns to Gaius’ side, where the old man sits him down and pats his shoulder before sitting next to him on the bench. “I know that you’re excited for the news, Gwaine, and I realize how much this will mean to Merlin, but you can’t just set out _now_. You’ve barely healed!”

 

        Gwaine shakes his head, undeterred. “We have no idea how long she’s going to be there, Gaius! The Forest of Ascetir! That’s only a couple of hours’ ride from here! I can be back right after dark!”

 

“And what will I tell Merlin? And how are you so confident that she’ll come with you, hmm? It’s not like she’ll just trust you immediately and follow you all of the way to Camelot.”

 

“But I can try. For Merlin.”

 

“Aithusa is not some common beast, Gwaine. She’s a dragon. One that’s ill and hurt and not likely to trust anybody who isn’t Morgana or Merlin. I think that Merlin would much rather have you alive than dead.”

 

“Gaius! You know that I have to go!”

 

“Know that you have to go where?” The door to the physician’s chambers opens, letting in a rumpled Merlin, gnawing on a chunk of bread.

 

        Gaius eyes Gwaine as if to say _this is why you c_ _an’t just leave whenever you want,_ and says, “Gwaine wished to go out to the lower towns today, and of course I had to stop _that_ idea immediately.”

 

“That was it? Really?” Merlin walks over to them both, and leans down to give Gwaine a peck on the cheek. “You’re energetic today.”

 

        Gwaine smiles easily at him, “Must be all of that personal care I’ve been getting. I’ve been getting spoilt, really, and I think the physician’s assistant might fancy me some –“

 

        Merlin smacks him lightly on the arm. “Alright, you, I know when you’re avoiding a question.” But he smiles anyways, and Gwaine rubs Merlin’s arm, pulling him down for a proper kiss.

 

“Hello. How was your first day back at work?”

 

“Awful. We’ve been back for how many days already, and apparently, Arthur can’t find _anyone_ else to wash his socks. Or polish his armour. Or properly muck out his stables.”

 

“Busy, then?”

 

“Do I have any other secrets that I could tell Arthur that would make him want to avoid me for another ten days?”

 

        Gwaine and Gaius share a chuckle, and Merlin lowers himself onto the bench opposite them. “So? What were the two of you up to? It sounded like quite the heated conversation.”

 

“Oh, it was nothing,” Gaius waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, and Gwaine only nods in agreement. “Gwaine was trying to convince me he’s well enough for a trip to the tavern.”

 

“Ha! Of course you would try that.” Merlin smiles affectionately at Gwaine, and laughs around a chunk of bread he’s chewing on. He shoves the rest of his bread in his mouth, cheeks puffing out. “I can’t stay long. I still have lots of chores I need to get done for Arthur. I just wanted to come and check in with you lot.”

 

        Gwaine’s expression softens, and he reaches over to brush his fingers over Merlin’s. “Thanks, love. Although, really, the quiet we’ve managed to have this morning was _quite_ nice –“

 

“Alright! I’m leaving!” But he’s laughing as he stands, and Merlin leans in to give Gwaine one more peck and yells a quick goodbye over his shoulder to Gaius, and he’s gone again.

 

        Gwaine sits back and sighs, shaking his fingers through his hair. “I forgot he has this awful talent for popping in when you least expect him.”

 

        Gaius squints at Gwaine, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t forget; it’s just never been a problem for _you_ before.”

 

***

        Gwaine plans to leave two days after the letter came. Gaius comes up with a couple of errands that will keep Merlin away for most of the day, so he won’t realize that Gwaine’s missing until Gaius sends him to meet him at sundown.

 

        It is also a hassle trying to convince Gaius that Gwaine is healed enough to leave.

 

“I know that you’re well enough to leave the physician’s chambers, Gwaine, and to roam the castle, but to spend an entire day on horseback? I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Gaius doesn’t look up from where he is grinding herbs with his mortar and pestle. Gwaine paces back and forth in front of the table, gesturing widely with his hands.

 

“Bah, Gaius, it’ll be _fine_. Better to just throw myself back into the swing of things than to get lazy, right?”

 

“Gwaine, I don’t want to have a conversation about _laziness_ right now, and especially one with _you_.”

 

“Gaius. She’s in the Forest of Ascetir, and we don’t know for how long she’ll be there, or how far she’ll go when she leaves. It’s the best option, and it’ll be done and over with in a day.”

 

“I still don’t like it.”

 

        Gwaine chuckles, and he walks around the table to Gaius and pats him on the arm. “You already know that there is nothing you can do to change my mind about it.”

 

“That’s an interesting choice of words.” Gaius quirks an eyebrow, amused.

 

“Oh, I know you can stop me. From where I’m standing I can see four different kinds of sleeping potions and seven poisons. I also know that you are aware of how much this will mean to Merlin and that I am the only option we’ve got.”

 

        Gaius sighs, pausing for a moment before picking up his mortar and pestle once more and continuing his chores. “The day after tomorrow, then. And not a day sooner. We will need to make sure that Merlin is completely preoccupied for the day.”

 

        Gwaine’s face breaks into a smile. “Thank you, Gaius.”

***

        The night before Gwaine plans to go out and find Aithusa, he can’t sleep. He tries not to toss and turn in order to not wake Merlin, but when he gets too restless, he is usually held down by an arm heavy with the weight of an exhausted Merlin, and mumbled gibberish. When the time finally comes for Merlin to get up to go fetch Arthur breakfast, Gwaine is twitching with the need and want to get started on his journey.

 

        Merlin sends curious and suspicious looks his way as he rushes around, getting ready, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

        And as soon as Merlin is off, Gwaine gets out of bed to find Gaius already waiting for him at the table, a pack full of provisions set in front of him. If Gwaine wants to have the entire day to try and find and bring Aithusa back to Camelot, he’ll need to leave as soon as possible.

***

        “Where’s Gwaine?” Merlin pokes his head into his bedroom, and Gaius clears his throat behind him. Merlin turns around, and frowns at his mentor. “Why isn’t he here? I thought you said he wasn’t well enough to be out and about.”

 

        Luckily, it is already late afternoon and Merlin hasn’t been in to check on them earlier in the day. Gaius can play it off as though Gwaine has only been gone a short while.

 

        And so Gaius sighs to put on a show, and gives Merlin a tired smile. “It’s been almost a fortnight, Merlin. Of course by now Gwaine will be restless. He went out.”

 

“Out? Like, as in, for a walk?”

 

“I assume so. He’s probably already made his way down to the tavern, too, much as I’d told him not to.”

 

        Merlin frowns, but shrugs in acceptance. He forgoes the few steps leading down from his room and jumps right off of the landing, coming right up to Gaius. “Well then perhaps I’ll go and find him. It’ll be nice to spend some time together out of the castle.”

 

“Ah, yes, I would imagine…” Gaius lets his voice trail off in that one particular way that implies he wants Merlin to do something for him.

 

        Merlin groans. “What is it?”

 

        Gaius smiles. “I need you to go and pick some herbs for me. I’m running out of yarrow.”

 

“Yarrow? Really? You want me to go _all_ the way out to the Darkling Woods for _yarrow_?”

 

“Oh, come now Merlin, it’s not so bad. Besides, the sun is still up, you have plenty of time.”

 

“You _really_ need it? Today?”

 

 

“Merlin.”

 

        Merlin heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders slump overdramatically and turning his face to the ceiling. “ _Fine_.”

 

“That’s my boy. Now, go on! You’ll have to leave now if you want to be back by nightfall.”

 

“Alright, alright. Honestly, it’s like nothing’s changed,” Merlin steps around Gaius to grab his pouch, filling it with his cutting blades and spools of string, “Arthur’s got me mucking out his stables every day, and _you’ve_ got me collecting herbs, and Gwaine is at the tavern, and Merlin _do this,_ Merlin _do that_.”

 

        Gaius smiles at Merlin’s antics, and hands him a bag with some bread, cheese and fruits in it. “Here. For your supper.”

 

        Merlin takes the bag with a confused frown, “Thanks. But this is too much for just me, Gaius.”

 

“Well, perhaps you’ll need it anyways. Now, off with you! I don’t want you back unless you’ve got me some yarrow!”

 

        “Alright! I’m leaving!” Merlin shoves the bag of food into his pouch, and steps around Gaius to the door. “Let Gwaine know I won’t be back for supper?”

 

        Gaius nods, waving him off with his hand. “Don’t you worry about that, I’ll let him know.”

 

        Merlin cracks a smile, “Thanks, Gaius.”

 

        He shuts the door behind him, and Gaius is left alone, humming a pleasant tune to himself (one that he did _not_ learn from Gwaine).

***

        Merlin is meandering along the edge of the Darkling woods when Gwaine shows up. At first, Merlin doesn’t clue in.

 

“Gwaine? What are you doing all of the way out here?” Gwaine is sitting atop his chestnut mare, a wide grin on his face. Merlin can tell that he’s been out all day, based on the amount of packs on his horse and the grime on his face. “Gaius told me that you went wandering through the lower towns.”

 

        Gwaine laughs out loud at that, and brings his horse up beside Merlin. “You of all people should know how good a liar Gaius is, love.”

 

 

        Merlin frowns and opens his mouth to reply, but his entire body suddenly goes still. Gwaine notices Merlin’s head leans slightly to the side, as if he’s listening to something.

 

“What is it?” Gwaine hops off his mare, moving into Merlin’s space and taking his hand.

 

“I just thought…I felt something that I haven’t felt in a while. I must have just imagined it. It’s nothing.”

 

        But now Gwaine’s face is threatening to split in half with his smile. “Are you sure? I would double check, just in case.”

 

        Merlin turns a disbelieving expression to Gwaine, eyes wide and shining.

 

“You –” He shakes his head, but Gwaine can see the excitement and hope growing in his eyes. Gwaine feels a swell of pride in his chest, and words are beyond him when he knows that he’s the one who made Merlin feel this way.

 

        Merlin can feel her strongly now, almost as strong as when she was just a hatchling. He lets go of Gwaine’s hand in favour of stumbling towards the tree line. His head swings left and right, searching and waiting for Aithusa to appear; he stops at a point almost directly in front of them.

 

        And then she’s there. Her scales have dulled from years spent in complete darkness and malnourishment, her wings are bent and her horns are broken off at the base, but Merlin is sure that she’s still one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

 

        As soon as Aithusa spots Merlin, she’s limping towards him, chirping and purring, and Merlin is on his knees, waiting to meet her. A low, deep rumbling rises from his throat, and he unconsciously recognizes it as a soothing noise a dragon would make to its young.

 

“ _Aithusa_.” Merlin can feel Gwaine approaching behind him. The familiar feel of Gwaine’s hand on his shoulder is grounding, and Merlin calls her again. “ _Aithusa.”_

 

        She’s only inches from him now, and Merlin can see her shaking. He reaches up to stroke her nose, and at his touch, she exhales, eyes closing and body relaxing. Merlin is rubbing her nose, her brow, her neck, his fingers tracing circles into her scales. Aithusa lets her head drop so that it bumps Merlin’s, and she lets out a cry so mournful that Merlin’s eyes fill with tears and Gwaine’s hand tightens on his shoulder.

       

        Gwaine drops onto the ground beside Merlin, his body facing him. Merlin turns to look at Gwaine, his eyes shining and smile wide. _Thank you._

 

        When Merlin looks at Gwaine that way, Gwaine’s heart stutters and his lungs forget how to hold oxygen, and it takes a few seconds before Gwaine can choke out a rough, “Anytime, love.”

 

        Merlin smiles, and he readjusts himself on the ground so that he is sitting with his legs crossed, rather than kneeling, and he leans back on his hands. Gwaine tosses his legs over Merlin’s lap, a pleased grin on his face. Aithusa circles them, clawing at the ground until she’s made a soft spot in the dirt for herself behind the two of them. She nudges her head between them, resting her chin on Gwaine’s thigh.

 

        Merlin smiles at her, scratching her nose. “How did you find her?”

 

“I wrote to the druids. I asked them if they could keep an eye out for her, and well, here she is.”

 

        Merlin tilts his head and gives Gwaine a knowing look. “That can’t be _all_. And somehow you’ve managed to charm her into following you.”

 

“Ah, well, _you_ of all people should understand the power of my _charm_.”

 

        Merlin gives him a playful shove, and Gwaine fakes a wounded expression, laughing all the same. Merlin drops into a thoughtful silence then, and Gwaine picks himself back up and reaches forward to start twining his fingers in Merlin’s hair. Merlin leans into the touch, but a slight frown is creasing his brow. “What are you thinking about, love?”

 

        Merlin bites his lip, unsure. “Why? Why would you go out and find her?”

 

        Gwaine’s fingers untangle from Merlin’s hair to instead curl a gentle hand around the back of his neck, thumb rubbing soothing patterns into the warm skin. “Oh, come one, love. You know the answer to that already.”

 

        Merlin quirks a brow, but his expression is openly gentle and affectionate.

 

“For you, Merlin. Only ever for you. I knew she would make you happy, by the way you’ve spoken about her.”

 

        Merlin reaches for Gwaine’s other hand, and takes it between both of his own and rests them in his lap. Aithusa nibbles at their joined hands, making a rumbling, purring noise.

 

        Gwaine grins at the dragon, “Well, at first it was for you. But then I met Aithusa, and now I am completely besotted.”

 

        Merlin snorts. “You’re insufferable.”

 

“My _charm_ , Merlin, _my charm._ ”

 

        Merlin laughs, loud and clear, and to Gwaine’s ears it sounds so new and so wonderful and he knows, just _knows_ , that Merlin hasn’t laughed like that in ages. He tucks it away in the space next to his heart.

        They stay most of the evening, since Merlin has enough food for both himself and Gwaine.

 

        Eventually, they begin to collect their things and head back to Camelot. Gwaine leads his horse behind them, and Aithusa trails alongside, sticking close to Merlin’s side. Gwaine watches the dragon, then turns to Merlin. “Where are you going to keep her?”

        Merlin gets a thoughtful look on his face, and stops. “Maybe the caves underneath the castle? No one really goes down there.”

 

Gwaine frowns. “You mean the caves where the Great Dragon was kept? Is that not, I don’t know, _weird_?”

 

        Merlin hums, a far-off look in his eyes. “Perhaps. But it’s the only place in Camelot where I _know_ she’ll be safe. If something happens, _then_ we can try and figure out something else.”

 

“Alright, then,” Gwaine reaches over, hand clasping tightly with Merlin’s. He watches their hands swing back and forth between them, and he suddenly has the urge to laugh. Merlin notices his expression, and he narrows his eyes suspiciously.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Oh, nothing. Well, it’s just that,” Gwaine is having a hard time containing himself, letting slip a few unflattering snorts of laughter. “We’re bringing a _dragon_ to Camelot. So that she can live and _be safe_. In _Camelot_.”

 

        Merlin rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Come on, Gwaine. Let’s get a move on, then.”

 

***

        Merlin seems to know where he’s going, so Gwaine follows his lead. They make it back to the citadel, but instead of going straight through (they couldn’t have done that, anyways, because of scaly, winged and fire-breathing reasons), they head around the back, until Merlin finds a small hole in the wall, grated shut. With a wave of his hands and flash of gold in his eyes, the metal bars are pulled out of place, letting them through easily.

 

“Where are we going?” Gwaine follows Merlin into the darkness easily, trusting that Merlin knows where he’s going.

 

        Before Merlin answers him, he turns and says something to Aithusa, who had been eyeing the cave with caution. Whatever it was that he said, it seems to have calmed her down, and she steps into the cave after them. “This is one of the many tunnels leading down under the castle that I have found to be very useful. I don’t think there are many people who know about their existence.”

 

“Arthur included?”

 

        Merlin sends him a sheepish grin. “Well, I had to get out of the castle for years without anyone knowing, Arthur included.”

 

“I like it already.” They’re making their way through a narrow passageway, its size barely accommodating Aithusa’s width. Merlin smiles at Gwaine, barely visible in the darkness.

 

        Eventually, they come to an opening, leading them to a huge cavern, its size surprising a low whistle from Gwaine. “ _This_ is under the castle? It’s been here the whole time?”

 

        The caves are huge – Gwaine has no idea how they managed to get so deep underground in such a short walk, but there is no alternative, given how high the ceilings are. The sound of his voices echoes endlessly. Merlin laughs, and takes Gwaine’s hand to lead him further into the caves. “Yes. Honestly, I’m surprised that more people didn’t try to find it.”

 

“Most people don’t hear dragons in their head, love.” Merlin hums in acknowledgment, but he’s already staring off to some place below them. Gwaine follows his line of sight, and finds a pile of broken chains, larger than any he’s ever seen. “Is that…?”

 

“Yes.” But instead of delving further into that story, Merlin turns left and leads them to a large, flat area in the rocks. Aithusa follows, keeping close to the both of them. Merlin walks around the clearing until he nods, and sits. “This is a good place as any.”

 

        Gwaine chuckles, and sits next to him. “This rock is better than that rock?”

 

        Merlin flushes a little, and nudges him in the side. “Quiet. Don’t tease me.”

 

“Alright, alright. But that rock over there looks fine to me.”

 

“ _Gwaine_.”

 

        He smiles, and leans into Merlin. “So? What do we do now?”

 

“I think we should try and get her set up down here. I mean, she doesn’t really need a lot, but I would like to try and check out all of her injuries and try to heal some of them.” Merlin holds his hands out to Aithusa, and she comes and lies in front of him, head dropping into his lap.

 

“I’ll go and get your supplies. No, it’s fine. You can stay here. I’ll be back soon, right? And Gaius will probably know what to give me.” Gwaine separates himself from Merlin, and stands, brushing off the dust and pebbles from his breeches. He goes to leave, but turns to look at Merlin, an embarrassed look on his face. “How do I get out of here, love? I don’t really want to go back the way we came, and have to go all the way around the citadel.”

 

        Merlin’s eyes shine with amusement, but he gestures for Gwaine to lean down. Gwaine follows, and Merlin pulls his face closer, until their foreheads touch. Images flash through Gwaine’s mind, and suddenly he knows his way around as well as if he was the one using the secret tunnels for the past decade. “That’s amazing, Merlin. Thank you.”

 

        Gwaine places a peck on Merlin’s cheek, and leaves to follow the path that would lead him back to the physician’s chambers.

 

***

        Gwaine returns, bringing news that Gaius will inform anyone with questions about their whereabouts that he and Merlin are at the tavern until further notice. Merlin snorts, and pats the ground next to him, inviting him to sit. Gwaine drops the collection of items he brought back for Merlin, and lets himself fall to the ground next to him. Aithusa is nowhere to be seen.

 

“So? Where is the newest object of my affection?”

 

        Merlin raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “She’s gone exploring. Now that you’re back, though, I’ll call her over.”

 

        With a throaty word in Dragon tongue, Aithusa comes bounding over the rocks to meet them. Immediately, she goes to Gwaine, nosing his pockets and pushing his chest with her foot. Merlin laughs when she manages to pull some fruit from his pocket.

 

“She has been thoroughly charmed by you, Sir Knight.”

 

“Dragon and Dragonlord both, I hear.”

 

        While Gwaine’s teasing would have usually earned him a slap on the arm or a hard poke to his ribs, now all Merlin does is look on with an exasperated expression, and reaches for Aithusa.

 

        While Gwaine has figured out that Aithusa cannot speak herself, it’s clear that she has an easy enough time understanding the both of them. Merlin speaks in a low voice when telling her that he wants to look over her injuries and that he’s going to try and clean some of them.

 

        He scrubs the dirt and mould from her scales, and gently picks with his fingers in the tighter areas. He makes his way around her thin body, taking note of areas where scales are rotten and peeling. He places the brush to the side, and gestures Gwaine closer, sitting him down in front of Aithusa. She looks to Merlin, body tense and wound tight, but with a reassuring nod, she lays her head in Gwaine’s lap. Merlin meets Gwaine’s eyes, an imploring look in his eyes. _Keep her still? This is probably going to hurt._

 

        Gwaine smiles at him, but doesn’t bother with a verbal reply, aloud or telepathically. Instead, he starts to talk, chattering away and stroking her head while Merlin picks and prods and pulls at the infected scales. He tells her about how handsome he thinks Merlin is, about how excited he is that she’s here, and that together, they’re going to get up to some amazing mischief.

 

        Merlin keeps making soft little noises, gently bringing a healing touch to the bloody sores left by the dead scales. Gwaine assumes that they’re words in dragon tongue by the way that Aithusa’s head twitches at the sound.

 

        Merlin’s tutting and fussing over an infected cut on her tail now, riffling through the supplies that Gwaine brought down to the caves for him. He wraps her tail, stretches out her bent wings, feels for broken bones in her favoured front left foot. He takes down the swelling in her joints, and he rubs a salve into even the shallowest of cuts.

 

“So, how is it, having her here?” Merlin and Gwaine are lying together on the ground, and Gwaine belatedly thinks that he should have also grabbed some bedrolls when he went to the physician’s rooms.

 

        Merlin rolls over so that he’s facing Gwaine, and he smiles. “It’s...nice. Comfortable. Like she’s back where she belongs.” Merlin’s expression darkens, and his eyes get a far off look about them. “It was awful, not knowing exactly where she was. Especially since Kilgharrah couldn’t find her, as well.”

 

“You didn’t go and look for her?”

 

        Merlin shakes his head, brow furrowed. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave Arthur, because I had no idea how long I would be gone. And I wouldn’t have even realized that I would be following Morgana, too.

 

“But seeing her now, it…it breaks my heart. I’m happy that she found a friend in Morgana, and I’m grateful to Morgana for taking care of her, but I would do anything if I knew there was a way to make it so it never happened in the first place; that she never met Morgana, and never got captured.”

 

“But she seems happy to be here with you, now.”

 

        Merlin’s smile is sincere and brightens his whole face. “No thanks to you, I suppose.”

 

        And so Merlin asks him about how he _actually_ managed to find her and convince her to come to Camelot with him, with a constant insistence that it had a lot to do with Gwaine’s _charm_.

 

        They end up staying in the caves for hours, but Gwaine sees no harm in spending the night on the hard rock, not when this is the happiest he’s seen Merlin in weeks. They curl up together, finding whatever warmth they can with each other.

 

        They wake before the dawn, Merlin making sure that there is enough time for him to redress Aithusa’s wounds and to make his way up to the kitchens to collect breakfast for the king and queen.

 

        Throughout the day, Merlin is constantly distracted; he keeps a connection open in his mind to make sure that Aithusa always knows that he is nearby, and so that at any sign of distress, Merlin can make his way back to her as soon as possible.

 

        Gwaine tries to argue that he can stay with her in the caves for one day, but Merlin knows that skipping out on his second day back on duty would only make Arthur even more upset, so he’s convinced otherwise.

 

        And the couple get used to having a dragon to take care of. They visit her in the caves often, and as much as possible they sneak her out so that she can spend an afternoon in the sun, or a night flying over the forests. Not wanting to be caught constantly travelling to and from the caves underneath the castle, Merlin creates a magical doorway in his cupboard, one that opens into the caves (he might have also created one between his chambers and Gwaine’s, but that’s a secret between him, Gwaine and Aithusa). Aithusa takes the most advantage of the doors, however, liking to sneak into Gwaine’s chambers and lie in front of the hearth while he and Merlin are asleep.

 

        Needless to say, the first time it happened, they were woken by page coming to collect Gwaine for patrol. Chaos ensued, but Merlin managed to get both himself and Aithusa out of his rooms before the page came in.

 

***

 

        Over the next four months, Arthur makes no effort to get to know more about Merlin’s magic. He kept Merlin on as his servant, but any attempt at their usual banter, teasing or shared wisdom slowly fades away. There is too much that Merlin wants to say, but nothing that Arthur wants to hear. Any time Merlin tries to crack the surface, to have Arthur reveal what’s on his mind, he immediately gets shut out and sent away.

 

        Gwaine has long since been cleared for training, but it’s not the same as it once was. Arthur and Gwaine’s relationship is tense, and while Arthur couldn’t possibly know the depth of his and Merlin’s relationship, it’s always been clear that Gwaine’s loyalty to Arthur had always stemmed from his adoration of Merlin. More than once, Arthur and Gwaine have brought their personal problems to the ring.

 

        That is, until Gwen puts her foot down. She is tired of all of the tension between Arthur, Merlin and Gwaine, and although she can’t really tell anyone of the true reasons why the tension is there, the other knights are beginning to notice the strained relationship – especially since Gwaine has been more than a little hostile towards Arthur during training.

 

        So she plans a hunt. She gets her own servants to pack everything they would need, to ready the horses, and to give the kitchens orders to prepare some food for travel. They haven’t been out since the battle at Camlann, and Gwen knows that it’s beginning to get to Arthur’s head. He argues that he doesn’t see the point -- there’s still too much to do in the citadel, that he doesn’t have time to go on _some hunt_.

 

“That’s an awful excuse, Arthur Pendragon, and you know it. We’ve been back four months. Winter is coming, and there will be no more fighting until next year, if any. Morgana is dead, her armies have dispersed, the Saxons have gone back to their own lands, and there have been no sightings of the dragon that was with Morgana on the battlefield.

 

“You need to talk to your best friend, Arthur. No, don’t give me that look. This will be good for you, for all of you. And besides, I’m sure you’re tired of having Gwaine beat you up during training, too. Go hunting, go exploring, relax, and fix this mess, Arthur. I’ll be fine for a few days by myself.”

 

        As much as he tries, Arthur can’t say no to Gwen.

 

        So Arthur, Percival, Leon, Gwaine and Merlin all set out for a three day hunting trip the next morning. Their ride out is fraught with tension, enough that even Gwaine doesn’t say much. Merlin eventually gets him to start talking, and they fill the silence of their company with chatter, Percival joining in every few minutes. Leon doesn’t join, opting to stick close to his king, a  concerned frown on his face.

 

        When Merlin begins to recognize their location as regular hunting grounds, he doesn’t even bother to pretend he isn’t purposely trying to scare away all of the game. Arthur turns on his horse, shooting Merlin a steely glare.

 

“ _Mer_ lin. Can you just _stop?_ ”

 

“Stop what, my lord?” Merlin is beginning to think that this hunting trip was not only organized to get Gwen to relax – the familiar set up is enough to set Merlin at ease, and the feel of magic thrumming through the earth and trees is a surefire way to cheer him up.

 

“Being an _idiot,_ and making all of that noise!” Oh, Merlin’s been called worse than that. Clearly Arthur still isn’t completely at ease. Gwaine raises a questioning brow, but Merlin only gives him a knowing smirk in reply.

 

“What noise? That thumping noise? Sire, I thought that was your horse. I mean, you _have_ been sitting around the castle for a few months, nothing to do but sign some paper and eat, so I’m _sure_ , that maybe, _perhaps_ , you’ve gained a few pounds, your poor horse is probably exhaus --”

 

        The knights hold their breath, not sure how the king will react to Merlin’s teasing, but when Arthur goes to retort, the glint in his eyes is not as sharp, and the set to his shoulders not as tense.

 

        There’s a collective sigh of relief, and Gwaine nudges Merlin playfully in the shoulder. _Up to our old tricks, are we?_

 

        Merlin grins, and with a flash of gold, Gwaine’s cape flips right over his head, leaving him flailing in the saddle. Merlin laughs, and kicks his horse into a gallop, racing ahead to ride next to Arthur. _And maybe some new ones, too._

 

        They camp the night under the stars, and Arthur feels something he hadn’t realized was missing slip back into place.

 

***

        The second day proves to be a plentiful hunt. They manage to kill a stag, some rabbits and a pheasant, which for some reason makes Gwaine and Merlin snicker into their stew. “Not so scary now, are they?”

 

        Arthur can’t understand them.

 

        The second night is quieter than the first, but the silence is not awkward or strained. Merlin and Gwaine sit next to each other on a log, a little too close for Arthur, but perhaps they’re just cold and trying to keep warm, and Percival and Leon are on the ground, relaxed, leaning back on their hands.

 

        Arthur’s eyes shift from knight to knight, willing himself to remember this night in the years to come and for the first time since they came back from Camlann, he feels relaxed. Lastly, he finds Merlin, leaning forward to tend to the flames, a habit more than anything, probably, as Arthur has seen first hand how he lights a fire with a simple nod of his head.

 

        Which is why Arthur notices that Merlin’s form is tense, eyes searching behind and beyond Arthur, into the darkness of the trees.

 

“Someone’s coming.”

 

        The knights are immediately on guard, and Arthur takes a second to wonder _have we always trusted Merlin’s instincts so quickly and without doubt?_ Because surely, Merlin’s _funny feelings_ all have something to do with magic.

 

        Percival and Leon are in front of Arthur, swords held out in a defensive stance, and Arthur notices that Gwaine has put himself in front of Merlin. _Wonder how he would feel to know Merlin doesn’t actually need anyone’s protection._

 

        Three figures step into the firelit clearing; a woman, old enough to be Arthur’s grandmother, and a young woman and a young man, one on either side of her. All three of them are wearing the heavy woolen cloaks of the Druids.

 

“Who are you? Speak, now.”

 

        The old woman in the middle steps forward, bowing her head. “My name is Ethne, Arthur Pendragon. I am a Druid. My companions are also Druids, from my camp.”

 

        Arthur shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rolling his shoulders back. “And what do you want, Ethne? Why have you approached us in the middle of the night like this?” The knights are still on guard, waiting for Arthur’s orders. Only Merlin is calm, eyes narrowed and steady on the Druids.

 

        Ethne puffs out her chest, and there’s a malicious glint in her eyes when she looks at Arthur. “I have come to make a personal inquiry, my lord.”

 

“Oh?” Arthur feels the shift in mood immediately; from the corner of his eye he sees Merlin grab Gwaine’s sleeve and raise his other hand, fingers splayed.

 

        If the hostility radiating from the knights bothers Ethne, she doesn’t show it. “I hear that you know of the identity of Emrys, my Lord. Is this true?”

 

        Leon shoots Arthur a questioning look, while Percival looks from Arthur to the Druid, no recognition in his eyes. Gwaine doesn’t react at all. _Huh._

 

“No, it’s not.” Lying is the only option, in Arthur’s mind. No matter that “Emrys” is supposedly Merlin, Arthur cannot admit to knowing a sorcerer.

 

        Ethne frowns, and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “Why do you lie? What harm is there in telling the truth to Druids, practicers of magic and followers of Emrys?”

 

“Arthur.” Gwaine is gripping the hilt of his sword, and his jaw is clenched. Arthur can see the conflict in his eyes, but Merlin places a placating hand on Gwaine’s arm, and Arthur turns away. _I’ll deal with them later._

 

“Arthur?” Leon is looking more confused than ever, but there is no way for him to explain.

 

“What are you here for, Ethne?”

 

“We know that you know of the true identity of your saviour and protector, and we also know that you have done nothing to give him the recognition he deserves. Your prejudice against magic blinds you to what is truly happening around you, and we can no longer stand around and wait for you to step into the role destiny has given you. You have forced our hand.”

 

        Now Merlin steps forward, Gwaine muttering a quick, tense _Merlin!_ , between clenched teeth. Merlin knows that the druids do not normally condone violence. “And the rest of your camp agrees with you?”

 

        Ethne sighs, her head hanging low. “No. We left them,” she lifts her head to stare defiantly back at Merlin, “but we know that what we plan to do is right.”

 

        Merlin is immediately on guard, and the knights can feel the shift in him; they can feel power and authority radiating off of him, and it’s not what they’re used to. _How has this gone unnoticed for so long, when he so obviously become a different person?_

 

        Merlin tries to reason with Ethne, but she tells him it’s too late; they’ve already begun. “What have you done?”

 

        The two younger Druids beside Ethne look uneasy, clearly, they thought they would be facing something much more hostile, or at least not people who are trying to reason with them.

 

        But Ethne ignores Merlin in favour of staring at Arthur. “Regardless of knowing the identity of Emrys, you still wish for a world without magic.” Her eyes flash with malice. “So, Arthur Pendragon, you will have it. Know that your wish, derived from hypocrisy and ignorance, will have severe consequences.”

 

        And before anyone can make a move against the Druids, Ethne’s clasps her hands with the two beside her, and begins to chant.

 

        The knights feel the earth shake, and Merlin screams.

 

        Immediately, Gwaine is yelling, advancing on the Druids, but Merlin cries out for him and falls to his knees. With a growl, Gwaine throws his sword to the side and falls to the ground in front of Merlin. “Merlin? _Merlin?”_

 

        Arthur turns to Ethne, furious. “What have you done to him?”

 

        Ethne shifts her gaze to the warlock, cradled in Gwaine’s arms. He’s no longer conscious, and his skin has turned the grey of the dead. Gwaine is stroking his face, whispering things too softly for Arthur to hear. She almost looks sad. “He is a being of magic, Arthur Pendragon. What is there left for him now, now that I have taken away the very air he breathes?”

 

        Arthur growls, and runs forward, sword at the ready. Ethne doesn’t even blink as she throws a bottle to the ground, its contents exploding with a deafening bang and a blinding light. Arthur is thrown back by the force of the explosion, and before he can get his bearings, he hears Ethne’s voice near his ear, full of sorrow. “It’s for the best.”

 

        And then they are gone. The knights are left standing alone, stunned and confused, the only sound in the clearing being Merlin’s ragged breathing and the crackling of the fire.

 

        Arthur swallows, and he turns to Gwaine and Merlin, stepping forward and reaching out with his hand. “Gwaine –”

 

        But Gwaine pulls away from him, bringing Merlin with him, and the fury in Gwaine’s expression makes Arthur falter. “I’m riding for Camelot, now. I need to get him to Gaius.”

 

“Gwaine, you _need_ to understand –”

 

“No. No, not right now, I don’t, Sire. I know plenty enough already, and right now, _nothing you say is going to be good enough._ I’m leaving.”

 

        Rendered speechless, Arthur can only watch Gwaine gesture to Percival, and the giant knight steps forward to lift Merlin into his arms. Gwaine finds his horse and climbs into the saddle, opening up his arms to receive Merlin from his friend. He holds Merlin against his chest, and looks to his companions. “Well?”

 

        Arthur gapes for a moment, before he nods. “Percival will ride ahead to warn Gaius. We should only be a couple hours’ ride from the citadel.”

 

        Gwaine barely waits for the rest of them to get comfortable in the saddle before he turns and rides into the night.

 

***

 

        Gaius has a bed ready when Gwaine carries Merlin into their chambers. His kit is spread out on the table, and Gwaine recognizes the bottles full of tinctures and potions for pain and sleep arranged beside the kit. Gaius rushes forward when he sees the state of his ward, hands raised in worry, ghosting over Merlin’s limp form. “What on earth happened, Gwaine?”

       

        Gwaine’s eyes darken in fury. “A curse. Some druids came to our camp, and gave Arthur some shite about being a hypocrite; then they said something about making him live without, something about binding magic in its entirety.”

 

“They cursed magic?” At Gaius’ horrified expression, Gwaine’s own fears are confirmed. Both of them have come to the realization of what effects a curse on magic would have on Merlin.

 

“Dammit! Damn, damn, damn, _damn!_ ”

 

        It’s at that point that Arthur and the knights enter the physician’s chambers, with Gwen following behind them, her skirts held in a way that would appear unladylike to anyone who were to see the display, in an attempt to follow them quickly to Gaius. Arthur arrives in time to hear Gwaine curse, and it puts a worried frown on his face. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

 

        Gwaine can’t bring himself to look back at them, back at Arthur, so he waits for Gaius to give him instructions on what to do.

 

“Gwaine, go and place Merlin on the bed. And get his tunic off, we need to clean those wounds.”

 

        He moves immediately, without any more acknowledgement of the people behind him. Arthur frowns at both Gaius and Gwaine. “Gaius, what is going on, really?”

 

        Gaius looks at them, defeat clear in the set of his shoulders, the hard line of his mouth. “Sire, you should probably go and sit -"

 

“Gaius! Gaius, you need to come and see this!” Arthur has never heard fear like that in Gwaine’s voice, and it makes him move as quickly as he can to Merlin’s side. Gaius follows a few steps behind, slowed by age.

 

        The sight of Merlin, bloody and – Arthur can’t understand why Merlin was effected this way. Clearly, neither did the druids, because most of them appeared just as shocked as he and the knights were when Merlin collapsed. Only their leader hadn’t been fazed.

 

        _You know the identity of your savior, your protector, yet still you wish for a world without magic. So, Arthur Pendragon, you will have it. Know that your wish, derived from hypocrisy and ignorance, will have severe consequences._

 

        Arthur takes a step back, as if distancing himself from Merlin will change the outcome of Arthur’s selfishness.

 

 _I_ am _magic, Arthur._

 

“No. No, you don’t just get to leave.” Gwaine’s voice grabs him by the ankle and pulls, hard, and Arthur comes crashing back to reality. Arthur focuses on him, Gwaine’s anger anchoring him to the present. Gwaine is on his feet, having left Merlin to Gaius. Arthur just shakes his head, turning, but Gwaine grabs his arm, wrenching him backwards.

       

“ _Look at him! Look at him, Arthur Pendragon!”_ Arthur has been on the receiving end of Gwaine’s irritation before, sure, but this? _This_ is rage. Rage that Arthur is beginning to think is well deserved. Merlin is on the bed, bleeding, runes carving themselves into his skin, their jagged lines layering themselves overtop of some of the most horrid scars Arthur has ever seen.

 

        Gaius is busying himself with trying to stop the bleeding. There is no stopping the runes from spreading, not when the curse has already been released, so the best they can do is try to slow the bleeding to keep Merlin safe from losing too much.

 

“What’s wrong with him? Why was he affected by the curse to this extent? The witch said that it was a curse on _magic,_ not on _Merlin._ ” Gwaine looks at Arthur in disbelief, while Gaius’ lips are pressed into a thin line. “What? What is it?”

 

“You really didn’t listen to _anything_ he said, did you Princess?” Gwaine laughs, but it’s a sound of desperation, bordering on hysterical. “Merlin wouldn’t actually talk about _what_ you two discussed, but it turns out it might just have been because there wasn’t anything _to_ discuss.” Gwaine paces forward, moving to grab Arthur’s collar, but then he stops himself at the last minute, pulling away, fingers curling into fists, with a noise of frustration. “Why, _why,_ Sire, do you have to be such a selfish fucking ass, sometimes?”

 

        All other sound in the room quiets, all eyes on Gwaine and Arthur. Arthur narrows his eyes at Gwaine, his own anger bubbling in his chest. “Watch your tongue, Sir Gwaine, you are _speaking to your king.”_

 

        Gwaine sneers. “And what did _my king_ do when his most loyal, trustworthy servant and best friend told him his most guarded secret?”

 

“I did what I thought best, Gwaine!”

 

“ _You did nothing!_  You rejected him! Sure, you didn’t banish him. Sure, you didn’t _execute_ him. But that’s what friends are for, right?”

 

“I didn’t _reject_ him, Gwaine-“

 

“Yes, you did. He told you he had magic. He told you that he uses it for you. He’s _protected you for ten years_ , Arthur. And all you’ve done for the past four months is avoid him. The only time you did talk about it, you ordered him to stay hidden.” Gwaine is still almost chest-to-chest with Arthur, but he turns his face to look at Merlin. “ _Now_ you want to know. Only once you’ve seen his scars, only when it’s _right in front of your fucking face_ , where you _can’t avoid it_.

 

“You had an opportunity, Sire, to change Merlin’s life for the better. And I think you only made it worse.”

 

“ _Gwaine!_ ”, Gaius snaps, but Gwaine only narrows his eyes, holding himself protectively between Merlin and Arthur. Gaius sighs, exhausted, and goes over to Gwaine. He places a calming hand on Gwaine’s arm, and speaks quietly, but not so much that the others can’t hear. “Get Merlin cleaned up and bandaged. I’ll speak to them.”

 

        Gwaine’s shoulders slump, and he drags his palms over his face. Gaius’ expression softens, and he gives Gwaine’s arm a gentle pat. “We’ll figure this out, Gwaine. It will be fine. Now, go and tend to him. I’m sure that you being there will be a comfort to him.”

 

        Gwaine looks at Gaius through a curtain of hair, and gives him a small smile. The others, excluding Percival, watch the interaction between Gaius and Gwaine with confusion, but then before they can inquire, Gwaine leaves them to tend to Merlin. Gaius follows, only to pull the dividing screen out to keep Merlin and Gwaine from view to give them some privacy.

 

        Gaius returns to the rest of them, and after locking eyes with each one of them, sighs and gestures for them to sit at the table.

 

        Once everyone is seated, Gaius folds his hands together on the table and looks to the king and his knights. “Now, can someone please tell me what happened? Gwaine told me that there was a curse, but what I don’t know is _why_.”

 

        No one speaks for a few minutes. Gaius waits patiently, staring at the knights with raised brow. “Arthur, I need to know what happened if I’m going to fix it.”

 

        Arthur clears his throat. “It…it was my fault.” Gwen gasps, looking over at Arthur sharply.

 

“Arthur, dear –“  She looks to Percival and Leon, but when she sees the somber expressions on their faces, her words die on her tongue. Gaius only sits back and sighs.

 

“Arthur?”

 

“Arthur, my boy, what happened was not your fault. You did not cast the curse. It was the Druids. It is no one’s fault but their own.”

 

“But they did it because of me. They knew that I knew Merlin’s, or I suppose, _Emrys’_ true identity, and they were frustrated that I did nothing about it. They were growing impatient with me. So they forced my hand. The leader, she told me – she said: ‘ _Know that your wish, derived from hypocrisy and ignorance, will have severe consequences’_.”

 

        Gaius’ voice is soft when he asks, “What was your wish, Arthur?”

 

        Arthur looks at his hands, folded tightly together in his lap. “To live in a world without magic,” he whispers. Gwen sighs, bringing a hand to her lips.

 

“Oh, Arthur.”

 

        Leon looks from Arthur, to Gwen, and to Gaius, confusion clear in his eyes. “Sire, if I may? Merlin has magic? And what does this curse have to do with him?”

 

        Gaius looks at Arthur with an inquisitive brow arched, and Arthur has the sense to look apologetic. Gaius shakes his head and sighs in exasperation, looking to Percival and Leon. “I assume you two remember the sorcerer at Camlann?”

 

        Percival and Leon both nod their heads, although it is clear they do not know where this is going. With one more pointed look at Arthur, Gaius continues. “That was Merlin.”

 

        Both the knights gasp, and Leon splutters, “But that was the old man! Dragoon!”

 

        Gaius nods, “Who is _Merlin,_ in disguise. Merlin has magic, rather, Merlin _is_ magic, and Arthur found out after the battle, when Merlin went to find him after Mordred wounded him. It was a magical wound, and it would have been a fatal one, as well, had Merlin not brought him to the Lake of Avalon so that he could ask the Sidhe to grant Merlin their powers to heal him.”

 

        Percival and Leon both gape at Gaius. Gwen already knows the story of how Merlin saved Arthur at Camlann, so she sits back and waits for Gaius to continue.

 

“Why? Why would Merlin turn to sorcery? I realize that it is thanks to him that we won the war, but…sorcery corrupts.”

 

        Gaius looks to Arthur apologetically, and Arthur nods, knowing what Gaius wishes to speak of. “Magic, Leon, is a tool. A swordsman can choose to use their sword for good or for evil; a herbalist can use their mortar and pestle to grind poisons or medicines. It is up to the wielder how it is used. There is no evil in sorcery; only in the hearts of men.”

 

        Arthur sits up straighter at that, a frown gracing his brow. “I’ve heard that before. The old woman, the – the Dolma! The Dolma told me that before, when we went to cure Gwen at that pool!”

 

        Leon is clearly at war with himself, not knowing what to believe. But seeing as Arthur is not upset about Merlin having magic, he relaxes slightly. “But then, why did Uther, God rest his soul, hate magic so much?”

 

        Gaius shakes his head sadly, “That story is not mine to tell; I can only say that Uther made a bargain without understanding his actions, and they had a consequence he was forced, but unwilling, to pay.”

 

        The knights and king sit in solemn silence, the only noise in the chambers the constant and rhythmic dunking and wringing out of wet towels from beyond the patient screen, and Gwaine’s soft, tuneless humming.

 

        Gaius smiles sadly, “There are many things that we could talk about, but perhaps we should return to the present. There is time for everything else later.”

 

        They nod blindly, dazed at having so much information placed upon their shoulders so suddenly. Gaius looks over to the screen, eyes glazed, focused on some far-off memory. “I don’t know where to start.”

 

        Arthur leans forward to take Gaius’ hand. “Start at the beginning. I’m…well, it’s unfair to say that I’m ready now, after everything that’s happened,” Arthur’s voice shakes, and he lowers his gaze, unable to meet Gaius’ eyes, “but I want to know. I _need_ to know, now. I was scared before, and I’m sorry for it.”

 

        Gwen smiles, tears sliding down her cheeks, and she reaches to rub a gentle hand on Arthur’s arm and lean her head on his shoulder. Gaius looks at Arthur, tears of his own filling his eyes, and he nods. He takes a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, and when he looks back at everything, it is with a new light in his eyes. “Then I suppose I should start with the fact that Merlin was born with magic.”

 

        Percival, Leon, and Gwen all gasp, while Arthur’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Yes, Arthur, he was telling you the truth. Merlin was using magic before he could walk or speak. It’s as instinctive to him as breathing.

 

“Now, don’t get too upset; Merlin is truly unique. There is no other like him. Some are born with the _potential_ , which will eventually show itself naturally, like what happened to the Lady Morgana.”

 

        Percival clears his throat, and Gaius nods at him, recognizing that he is going to ask a question. “But why come to Camelot? I grew up in a place where magic was accepted; there may not be _many_ places, but he could have found _someplace_ other than Camelot.”

 

        Gaius smiles ruefully. “His mother sent him. She knew that it was too dangerous for Merlin to stay in Ealdor for much longer, and I was the only one who could teach him. Honestly, how he managed to keep it hidden those first few months, I have no idea. It was _too_ instinctive, too emotion based. The first thing he did when he walked into my chambers was save my life. I was up there,“ Gaius looks behind him, and points up to a narrow platform that was made to access the books on the upper shelves, “and I fell backwards. Merlin slowed time and brought the bed over from the other side of the room to catch me. Without uttering a single word.”

 

        Gaius chuckles, shaking his head at the memory. “While it was handy, and _incredible_ , I had to break him of the habit if he was to remain safe. You cannot imagine how many things I was throwing around the room until I got him to stop freezing them in midair.”

 

        The knights smile at how obviously fond Gaius is of those memories, and Percival even joins in Gaius’ chuckling.

 

“He’s done so much for this kingdom. And for you, Arthur. For the knights, and for Gwen.” Gaius has sobered somewhat, his smile dimming and hands retaking their place, folded, on the table. “So many battles that I’ve spent worrying he won’t come home.”

 

        Gwen speaks up, her tone gentle and not unkind. “Like when, Gaius? Tell us about what he’s done.”

 

“He defeated Nimueh. He summoned lightning from the sky and struck her down where she stood. He’s defeated immortal armies, immortal sorcerers, creatures of ancient magic who have laid curses upon the land. He’s faced Morgana more times that I can count.”

 

        Arthur looks lost, realizing that everything he had assumed about Merlin was wrong, that there has always been so much more to his manservant. “All of that…but how?”

 

“The details are Merlin’s to tell. Some because they are too personal for anyone other than himself to share, others because even I do not know the total extent of what he did.”

 

        The following silence is tense, each of them taking the time to absorb their new knowledge of their friend. Arthur looks up suddenly, a suspicious glint in his eye. “Did Lancelot know?”

 

        Gaius has the grace to look a little guilty. “Yes, he did. But not because Merlin told him. Lancelot heard him cast the spell that helped him kill the Griffin.”

 

“The Griffin? That was only a few months after he came to Camelot!”

 

“And he became one of Merlin’s closest and truest friends.”

***

“Did Lancelot know?”

 

        Gwaine doesn’t stop, but his hand does stutter in its task of wiping the blood from Merlin’s chest. When the towel he is using is too soaked with water and blood, he places it in the bucket with the other soiled towels and leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He listens as Gaius tells the others about how Lancelot found out, about what his friendship had meant to Merlin.

 

        Gwaine is frustrated. He’s frustrated that it has taken Arthur this long to ask these questions, about Merlin’s quests, his magic, Lancelot.

 

        When Lancelot was alive, Gwaine _had_ noticed how close the two of them were. He wasn’t _jealous_ , necessarily, but he had caught himself wishing once or twice that he was in on their shared secret, their quiet conversations and knowing looks. Merlin had said that there had been nothing romantic between the two of them, and that Lancelot was completely taken by Gwen, the poor sap, but Gwaine had only truly believed him after he found out about Merlin’s magic.

 

        A shifting of fabric and a catch of breath bring Gwaine’s attention back to the patient’s cot, where Merlin has turned his head, eyes open and staring in the direction of the others. Gwaine realizes that he must also be listening to their conversation. “Merlin? Hey, love, can you hear me?”

 

        Merlin turns his head slowly to look at Gwaine, and he nods. The movement must have caused him pain, because his body tenses and he lets out a hiss of pain. Gwaine combs his fingers through Merlin’s hair, shushing him. “It’s ok, love, just go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

 

        Merlin’s eyes shutter closed, and his breathing deepens and evens out. Gwaine sighs, reaching to wring out another towel, and pulls the fresh bucket of water closer.

 

        He’s working on cleaning a particularly deep gouge in Merlin’s shoulder when he hears a whine from Merlin’s room. All conversation from the main chamber stops, and Gwaine hears the slow slide of the wooden bench on the floor. Arthur’s voice is tight with – not _fear_ , but concern is obvious. “What was that? Gaius?”

 

        Aithusa whines again, and Gwaine puts his towel down and gets up to bring her to Merlin. _Damn! I forgot that Aithusa would have felt Merlin get injured. She’s probably terrified._ However, there is the King of Camelot and some knights out there, all of whom are probably not ready to deal with a baby dragon. But Aithusa cries again, and Gwaine makes an impulsive decision and hopes for the best. _Might as well get this over with._ Gwaine feels all eyes on him as he steps past the screen.

 

“Aithusa?” There’s another whine, this time louder, in response to Gwaine’s call.

 

        Arthur immediately turns a suspicious look to Gwaine, exclaiming incredulously, “Gwaine, _what_ is in Merlin’s room?”

 

        Gwaine ignores Arthur in favour of going to fetch Aithusa, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say to the others.

 

“Gwaine? Why is she crying? Is there something wrong?” Gaius turns in his seat so that he can follow Gwaine’s movement across the room.

 

        Gwaine shrugs as he opens the door to Merlin’s room. “She probably felt it when Merlin got hurt.”

 

        Gwaine moves to the cupboard and opens the door, only to be presented with the sight of a distraught Aithusa crawling through the hole that is carved through the rocks of the tunnels below the castle. Merlin had created a doorway between the tunnels and his room in one cupboard, and one between his and Gwaine’s rooms in another, which made for many midnight visits.

 

        Another example of why Gwaine loved Merlin’s magic.

 

        Before Gwaine can stop her, Aithusa is barreling down the steps from Merlin’s room, eyes ducking back and forth, looking for her Dragonlord. Gwaine hears Arthur shout and the bench scrape across the floor, meaning Percival and Leon have probably stood up as well. Gwaine rushes down the stairs after her, and sees, much to his horror, Aithusa cowering at the bottom of the stairs with Arthur pointing Excalibur at her.

 

“No! Arthur! She won’t harm any of you!” Gwaine rushes down the stairs, panic gripping his chest at the thought of Aithusa being harmed. _I’ve gotten quite soft, haven’t I, love?_  He stands between Arthur and Aithusa, hands held out in front of him, trying to appeal to Arthur. Aithusa whines again, nudging Gwaine’s back with her nose.

 

“Gwaine. Step aside. That is _Morgana’s dragon_ you’re protecting.”

 

“Sire, it’s ok. Aithusa means no harm.”

 

“Oh, it has a _name_ now?”

 

“Princess, really, now isn’t the time for this –"

 

“ _It’s a dragon Gwaine, it’s dangerous-"_

 

“Arthur, please.” Gaius’ voice is calm and steady, enough so that it garners the attention of everyone in the room save Aithusa, who is still whining at Gwaine’s back. Arthur stops short at Gaius’ interruption, but not losing his defensive stance. He looks from Gaius to Gwaine, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Arthur, you need to calm down. Aithusa truly does not mean any harm. She is only worried about Merlin. Sit, please, Arthur. As you can see, there is much that you don’t know.”

 

        Arthur looks like he’s considering ignoring them for a minute, but then his shoulders slump in defeat and he sheathes his sword, dropping himself back on the bench. Gwen slowly takes her place back at his side, as do Leon and Percival, although the two of them still appear to be wary of Aithusa. Arthur holds his head in his hands and sighs. “Why didn’t he tell me, Gaius?”

 

        Gwaine tenses, fury rising as sudden and sharp as lightning, but Gaius raises a hand to him before he can yell at the king. “Arthur, he tried to tell you. You know this.”

 

        Arthur raises his head, looking to Gwaine. Gwaine meets his eyes defiantly, knowing that his fury is still etched clearly in every line of his face. He turns his back on Arthur, kneeling so that he can speak to Aithusa. He takes a few moments to calm himself down, stroking her head, relishing in how much brighter her scales have become since they found her, at the trust and adoration in her eyes, and at how important she has become to _him_. “It’s alright, hmm? They were just surprised. They’re not going to hurt you, or me, or Merlin. Go see him. I’ll be right here.”

 

        Aithusa looks nervously over Gwaine’s shoulder at the rest of their company, but at Gwaine’s insistent nudging and cajoling, Aithusa finally gives a quiet chirp and bumps her nose to Gwaine’s jaw affectionately. She stalks past the rest of the group, keeping herself close to the ground in her nervousness, and disappears behind the screen.

 

 

        Gwaine turns back to face the others, who are all staring at him, dumbfounded.

 

“You certainly know a lot about Merlin.” Arthur’s tone is harsh, dismissive, and cold.

 

“Really? _Really_ , Arthur. _That’s_ what you have to say?” Gwaine shakes his head, fed up with Arthur. “You have _no right_ to be upset now, not after you’ve barely said anything to him for the past four months. You should have talked to him; he would have told you _anything_ you wanted to know.”

 

“Alright, the both of you, that’s _enough_.” Gaius snaps, clapping his hands onto the table, shocking both Arthur and Gwaine into looking at the physician. “Gwaine,” Gaius’ tone softens, and he lets some of his distress show in his eyes. “Why don’t you stay for a few minutes to explain why Aithusa is here? I’ll go and keep an eye on Merlin.”

 

        Gwaine nods tersely, and he helps Gaius up off the bench, the old man stiffly makes his way across the room to Merlin. When he’s out of sight behind the screen, Gwaine drops heavily onto Gaius’ abandoned seat. He sits with his back straight, arms crossed over his chest. Gwen watches him with a small frown gracing her brow, her hand unconsciously rubbing Arthur’s shoulder. Leon looks like he’s about to have a breakdown, having been presented with too much information that sends his core beliefs into disarray. Percival appears thoughtful, of all things. Finally, his eyes fall on Arthur, who stares at him with the same kind of angry, calculated appraisal. “Well?”

 

        After a few more seconds spent staring at Gwaine, Arthur sighs and forcefully rubs his face with his palm, finishing with a frustrated growl and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “How? Why?”

 

“Merlin talked about her while I was recuperating. I thought that it would be good for him if I went to find her.”

 

“How did you find it?”

 

“I asked Gaius if he could send word to the Druids; ask them if they could keep an eye out for _her_. They wrote back within the week, saying that she was spotted in the forest of Ascetir. As soon as I was able, I was out looking for her.”

 

“You recuperated from your injuries months ago, Gwaine.” Gwaine only smiles and shrugs in response to that.

 

“ _Where did you keep a dragon for four months?”_

 

“She stayed in the caves below Camelot.”

 

“Then why was it in Merlin’s room?”

 

“Merlin’s created a sort of magical doorway to the caves, making it easier for him to get to her. Not _it_ , her.” _And one to my chambers, but you don’t need to know that._

 

        Arthur only gives his head an incredulous shake, “I’m still not seeing the whole picture. _Why_ is it here, Gwaine?”

 

        Gwaine gives an exasperated sigh. “ _She’s_ family to him, Arthur. Like a daughter, actually.”

 

        Arthur looks at Gwaine like he’s lost his mind, while Leon looks nauseous.

 

“Merlin’s a Dragonlord?” Percival’s voice is low and inquisitive, but Gwaine hears the awe in the undertones. All occupants at the table, Gwaine included, look at Percival in shock.

 

“…Yeah, he is, actually.”

        When no one’s stares seemed to be losing their potency, Percival gives a self-conscious shrug, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn. “Well, it makes sense. If he was the old man at the battle, we _did_ see him stop the dragon, didn’t we? With just a few words.”

 

        Arthur’s head is in his hands again, shoulders slumped. Gwen rests her head on his back, fingers combing the fringes of yellow hair on his neck. “A Dragonlord.”

 

        The stool from behind the screen screeches across the floor, and Gaius comes hobbling back into sight. Before he sits down, he places a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and tells him gently, “He’s awake. He’s asking for you.” Gwaine nods and leaves immediately, leaving Gaius to once again take his place at the table.

 

        But instead of sitting, Gaius takes one look at those sitting at his table and decides that they have all had enough for one day. “Alright, that’s enough of this tonight, I think. No one is in a proper condition to deal with any more of this until tomorrow, after a proper rest.”

 

        It is only telling of how true that is when both knights stand and leave without argument; Gwen hovers at Arthur’s back, hesitating when he makes no move to leave, but then sighs and places a kiss to his hair. She steps around the table to hug Gaius, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Gaius smiles kindly to her and gestures her to the door with a wave of his hand, “Goodnight, My Lady.”

 

“Goodnight, Gaius,” she replies softly.

 

        With only Arthur left at the table, Gaius takes a seat. Arthur looks up, still holding his head in his hands, a distraught look on his face. “What have I done, Gaius? I’ve truly done wrong by him, haven’t I? All because of my own fear and selfishness.”

 

        When Gaius doesn’t reply, Arthur’s face morphs into a pained grimace. “See! You can’t even deny it! I…How can I fix this? Gaius?”

 

        Gaius places his hand palm up on the table, an expectant look in his eyes. Arthur hesitates, but not for very long, and reached to place his hand in Gaius’, fingers clenched tightly around the smaller, more wearied hand. Gaius takes it in both of his. “We will do what we can, Arthur, and pray that it is enough. You see fault in your ways now, and that is what matters.”

 

        Arthur squeezes Gaius’ hand again, turning his face away to hide his distress. They spend a few minutes like that, sitting together in silence, until Arthur clears his throat. “Well, perhaps I can be of some help now? I can help you look through some books, or records, or whatever it is you do-“

 

“It’s alright, Princess, I’ll be here all night. You should go rest.” Gwaine steps out from behind the screen carrying two buckets of soiled water.

 

        Arthur narrows his eyes at Gwaine, opening his mouth to object, but Gaius interrupts him. “Sire, Gwaine is right. You should go and rest. He will be more than enough help tonight.”

 

        Arthur sighs, and moves to stand. “Goodnight, then. I’ll be back in the morning.”

 

“Goodnight, Sire.”

 

        When Arthur closes the door behind him, both Gaius and Gwaine make their way back to Merlin’s side. Aithusa is curled on the opposite side of the cot, and Gaius takes a seat on Gwaine’s abandoned stool. Gwaine sits on Merlin’s other side, taking his hand in his own and placing a kiss to his palm. Merlin’s eyes are closed, but only from exhaustion; he smiles at Gwaine’s touch, and sighs when Gaius brushes the hair from his brow. Merlin’s eyes flutter, and Gaius leans forward.

 

“Merlin? Can you hear me?”

 

        Merlin coughs, but nods. He pushes against the mattress, trying to lift himself into a sitting position, but his shoulders shake with the effort of trying to keep himself up. Gwaine is immediately behind him, hands on his ribs, taking the burden of his weight. “Easy, Merlin. I’ve got you.”

 

        Gwaine shifts so that he’s sitting behind him, holding Merlin up against his chest. Merlin moves further into Gwaine’s space, shamelessly tucking himself into Gwaine’s chest, face pressed into the side of his neck. Merlin huffs, and squeezes Gwaine’s. Gwaine smiles a kiss into Merlin’s hair, and Gaius gives an exasperated shake of his head.

 

“The two of you are worse than the king and queen; how neither of them have noticed is quite beyond me.” Merlin rolls his eyes and turns to hide his face behind Gwaine’s hair. But then Merlin’s breath catches and he tenses, Gaius and Gwaine’s attention immediately focusing on the new runes tearing the once unmarked skin of his upper chest. Gaius leaves and frantically searches for a cloth to staunch the blood, while Gwaine holds him even tighter to him, pressing his cheek to Merlin’s forehead. “Just breathe through it, Merlin, right? Just breathe through it.”

 

        Gaius comes back, and he hands Gwaine the cloth. Gwaine dabs at the wound, gently trying to soak up the blood. Merlin takes a deep breath, and moves so that he can stare at Gaius, eyes shining with fever.

 

“It’s magic, Gaius. It’s like…I’m being held underwater. I can _see_ the surface,” he tenses again as a new rune begins to tear his skin, “But I can’t break it.”

 

“Merlin, what are you talking about?”

 

“This curse, it’s different. It’s not like before, when Morgana – it’s not like before. Back then, it was only _moved_ , I could go and find it, but now, it’s all still there. Nothing has moved, it’s just been bound. It’s _suffocating_.”

 

        Merlin lets out a harsh breath, closing his eyes and resting in the crook of Gwaine’s neck. Gwaine looks to Gaius with a confused frown on his face, fingers gently tracing circles on the warm skin of Merlin’s shoulder, not really understanding what Merlin is talking about. Gaius, on the other hand, looks stricken.

 

“Merlin, are you saying that the Druids have placed a binding spell on _all_ magic? Not just yours?”

 

        Merlin nods his head, and Gaius pales. Gwaine looks frantic, eyes darting from Merlin’s prone form in his arms, to Gaius, so much like a father to him now, and even he understands that they’re messing with something much bigger than all of them. “What does that mean, Gaius? Merlin, love? What does that mean?”

 

        Gaius sighs, leaning forward like a mountain has just been placed on his back. “Nothing good, Gwaine,” his eyes, shining with a grim determination unlike anything Gwaine has ever seen in the man, rise to meet his. “Nothing good.”

***

        The pain keeps Merlin awake most of the night; Gaius busies himself by making draughts and potions, while he gives Gwaine books to read through as he looks after Merlin and keeps cleaning the ever growing wounds. Hours later find them being greeted by the coming dawn, Gaius only having just made a potion strong enough to keep Merlin asleep through the pain, and Gwaine has gone through four books with no progress on discovering which curse the Druids had used. Aithusa has spent the night curled up at Merlin’s bedside.

 

        Gaius gets up from the table, bringing a bottle of a murky brown colour, and gives it to Gwaine. “Give this to him, and then the both of you should get some rest.”

 

        Gwaine yawns, “But what about you, Gaius?”

 

“It’s just after dawn, so I might as well get a start on my morning rounds.”

 

“But you haven’t slept, either, Gaius.”

 

        Gaius smiles and pats Gwaine’s hair, not unlike how he does Merlin’s. “I’ll be fine. You haven’t slept for three days, Gwaine, and you won’t last much longer. I’ll finish up my rounds, and I’ll be back to rest.”

 

“Then I’ll just wait until you get back –"

 

“Gwaine. _Physician’s orders.”_ Gaius smiles at him tiredly, and slides the screen so that they’re completely hidden from view.

 

        Gwaine sighs, but he _is_ grateful. He reaches over to Merlin, who is not quite conscious, and tilts his head so that Gwaine can pour the potion down his throat. Merlin flinches at his touch, but Gwaine is there, murmuring and shushing and petting, eventually coaxing the liquid past his lips and rubbing his throat until he swallows. “There you go, love. Hopefully now you’ll get some proper rest, eh?”

 

        Aithusa chirps from the other side of the bed, head raised so that Gwaine can reach over to scratch the new horn growth. “You too, Aithusa. Keep quiet in case we get any visitors, yeah?”

 

        So Gwaine pulls off his boots and folds the blanket down so that he can slip inside, fitting himself into the space next to Merlin. Merlin blinks drowsily at the intrusion, but he smiles at Gwaine and carefully rolls so that he’s on his side, fitting tightly along Gwaine’s body. Gwaine presses his lips to Merlin’s hair, and knits his fingers into the tangle at the nape of his neck.

 

“Goodnight, Merlin.”

 

        Merlin hums into the warm spot behind Gwaine’s ear, and Gwaine lets himself be swept off to sleep.

***

“Gaius, has there been any change?” Arthur strides through the door, not ever being one for knocking, and makes Gaius jump nearly out of his skin. Aithusa, lounging beside Gaius’ work space, yips, her tail lashing out in her surprise.

 

“Sire! I would ask that, while your concern for Merlin is touching, _please_ be quiet. They’ve only just gotten to sleep.” Gaius has his back turned while speaking to Arthur, trying to placate the startled dragon.

 

“Merlin was awake? Why didn’t you get someone to come tell me? And - wait, _they?_ Who else -?”

 

        Having realized his slip, Gaius tries to intercept Arthur as he moves towards the screen separating the patient’s bed from the rest of the room. “Yes, the pain was keeping him awake for most of the night, and we only just managed to get him a sleeping draught powerful enough a couple of hours ago – Sire, if you could come over here, I can show you what was used –” But Arthur pushes past Gaius to peek his head around the screen, and he just – stops.

 

        Merlin is lying on the bed, bandages and bare skin peeking out from above where the hem of the blanket has slipped down his shoulder. He’s on his side, his back to the door, but even so Arthur can see another figure in Merlin's bed – one that looks suspiciously like _Gwaine._ And it _is_ Gwaine, lying on his back, one arm spread underneath Merlin, cradling him to Gwaine’s side, the other resting on his stomach. Merlin has his face nuzzled into Gwaine’s neck, an arm flung across his chest and fingers tangled in Gwaine’s hair.

 

“Gaius, _what is –_ ”

 

“Sire, please! Not so loud, you’ll wake them!”

 

“Wake _them?_ _Them?_ Since when are Merlin and Gwaine a _them_?”

 

        There is movement from the bed and they both freeze, looking over Arthur’s shoulder. Merlin shifts, trembling and hissing in pain, but before either Arthur or Gaius can go and check what is wrong, Gwaine, clearly still half asleep, starts to rub Merlin’s back, pulls the blanket back up to his neck, and tries to soothe him, making shushing sounds pressed against Merlin’s hair. He pulls Merlin forward so that _he is lying across Gwaine’s chest, Arthur is going to kill him, -_ but then it’s quiet; Merlin’s breathing evens out, and Gwaine releases a contented sigh, both falling back into a deep slumber. Gaius watches them both with a look of fondness.

 

“They’re good for each other, Arthur.”

 

Before Arthur can say anything else, Gwen bustles in, her skirts lifted off the ground to keep from making any noise. “Arthur? Are you here?”

 

        Gaius gives Arthur one more look of fond exasperation and walks around the screen to greet Gwen. “Good morning, My Lady. And yes, Arthur is here.”

 

        Gwen comes forward, smiling at Gaius. She places her hand on Gaius’ arm, rubbing soothingly. “How is he? Did he get any rest?”

 

        Gaius smiles at Gwen kindly, but his eyes are tired. “He was up most of the night from the pain. He and Gwaine only managed to fall asleep a couple of hours ago.”

 

        Her eyes narrow at the mention of Gwaine, but otherwise she remains quiet. She looks to the screen and back to Gaius, eyes widening in realization, which quickly changes to amusement. Eyebrows raised, she mouths _Arthur?_ Gaius only shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but his smile is teasing.

 

        With one more pat to Gaius’ arm, she makes her way around the screen to Arthur. Arthur, who seems to have not moved from when he first saw the two together. He’s staring at where Merlin and Gwaine are tangled together with a frown on his face.

 

        Gwen sidles up beside him, giving his arm a teasing pinch.  “Come now, Arthur, staring _is_ rude.”

 

        Arthur turns to look down at her. “Did you know about the two of them?”

 

        Gwen watches the way Gwaine unconsciously pulls Merlin closer, nosing his hair. Gwen smiles and takes Arthur’s hand in her own. “No. But I’m sure there’s a reason they didn’t tell us.”

 

“He said no more secrets.”

 

        Gwen drops Arthur’s hand in favour of placing hers on her hips. “Arthur, Merlin’s personal relationships have nothing to do with his magic. And I’m sure that after everything that’s happened, privacy regarding those relationships has been a blessing to Merlin. So, no nosing!” She pulls him out of Merlin and Gwaine’s corner of the room and shuffles him along until he is at the doorway.

 

        “I’ve asked George to bring you breakfast, and then you have a meeting with the council in an hour. I’ll stay here to watch over them.”

 

“Gaius is here.”

 

“And Gaius was up all night taking care of Merlin. I’ll let Gaius have a rest and stay here. Besides, it’s as good an opportunity to finish my knitting as ever.”

 

“The dragon is here.”

 

“She didn’t harm any of us last night, and Merlin, Gwaine _and_ Gaius trust and care for her. I’ll be fine.”

 

        Arthur sighs but doesn’t argue with her. He leans down to kiss her cheek and is on his way. Gwen closes the door after him and makes her way back to Gaius, who is sitting at the table, eyes closed. “Gaius. Gaius?”

 

        Gaius startles awake, and Gwen smiles at him. “How about you get some rest? You can go up to Merlin’s room, and I’ll stay down here and watch over them.”

 

“Oh, I can’t impose on you like that, Gwen.”

 

“It’s fine, Gaius. I’ll have some food brought down in case they wake up, and I’ll work on my knitting. God knows when last I was able to knit.”

 

        Gaius smiles gratefully at her, and holds her hand in his. “You are a good friend, Gwen.”

 

“Get some rest, Gaius. I’ll be here.”

 

        Gaius nods and moves to stand, looking down at where Aithusa has curled herself up on the floor. He reaches down to give her a pet, and turns to make his way up to Merlin’s room.

 

        When the door closes behind him, Gwen sets about tidying up the various bottles and tinctures and books that he and Gwaine used the night before. She can feel Aithusa’s eyes following her as she moves about the room, but forces herself to act indifferent, hoping that the dragon will come to her on her own, realizing that Gwen means no harm.

 

        Once she gets everything organized and has her food brought in from the kitchens, she settled down with her knitting in the chair next to Merlin’s cot.

 

        A couple of hours later find Gwen finishing up her socks, Aithusa laying at her feet, and Gwaine shifting awake. He stretches, his hand travelling the length of Merlin’s back, and he catches sight of Gwen over the top of Merlin’s head. He sends a toothy smile her way. “Morning, M’Lady.”

 

        Gwen sets her knitting down and raises her eyebrows at Gwaine, her expression suspicious and amused. “So, I got Arthur to keep from nosing about the two of you, but that does not mean that you’ve gotten me off your backs. When?”

 

        Gwaine laughs, completely at ease. Merlin startles awake at the noise, and tenses from the pain of moving too quickly. He rolls over in the bed, moaning quietly as he tries to adjust his position. His laughter is immediately cut off, and Gwaine smoothes the hair back from Merlin’s face and places a kiss on his head. “Morning, love.”

 

        Merlin smiles, eyes still closed against the midday sun, and Gwaine slips out of bed, making sure to pull the covers back up over Merlin, and goes to get a bottle of the medicine Gaius left for Merlin to take when he woke up.

 

        Gwen moves in her chair, the noise alerting Merlin to her presence. He opens his eyes and, seeing Gwen sitting so close, realizes that there’s no way she _didn’t_ see them together. He feels his ears turn pink, and Gwen laughs at his expression.

 

“Ah, yes, Her Royal Highness wishes to know for how long we’ve been shagging, love.” Gwaine comes back and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning down to slide an arm behind Merlin’s shoulders to hold him up. “Gaius left this for you, but I’m not too sure what it’s for.”

 

        Merlin shrugs, mumbling something about it probably being for pain, and lets Gwaine hold the bottle up to his lips. He makes a face at the taste and Gwaine chuckles, brushing the hair away from Merlin’s face.

 

        Gwaine sets about collecting new bandages and fresh water, and Merlin watches him as he makes his way around the room. As Gwaine comes back to Merlin’s side and gets to work wiping Merlin down and changing his bandages, he sings the most vulgar tavern songs he can think of, bringing a smile to Merlin’s lips and causing the Queen to blush like not even Arthur has made her blush before. Merlin laughs at Gwen’s expression, and Gwaine sings even louder.

 

        And so it goes, for the rest of the morning. Merlin falls in and out of sleep, both the pain and the medicine keeping him from being fully conscious for long periods of time. Gwaine is near the whole time, either making sure that Merlin is always in his line of sight when doing something at the table, or sitting on the bed, combing his fingers through Merlin’s hair. Gwen smiles at their easy affection, and accepts it when they skirt around any prying questions. “I’m happy for the two of you. Truly.”

 

        Gwaine smiles from where he’s putting away the medical supplies. Putting away the last of the clean linen, he returns to settle back on the bed with Merlin. He sits at the head of the bed, lifting Merlin’s torso so that he is settled comfortably on Gwaine’s lap.

 

        After the eleventh bell, servants begin filing into the physician’s chambers, carrying platters of food. Gwen immediately motions at them to try and keep quiet, giving pointed jerks of her head in Merlin’s direction. Gwaine looks to Gwen with raised eyebrows. “We feeding an army, Your Majesty?”

 

        Gwen smiles, and gives him  an apologetic look. “Just about, I suppose. Arthur, Leon, and Percival will be back after training has finished, and we will continue our discussion about what we’re going to do about the curse.”

 

Gwaine presses his lips into a thin line, concern gracing his brow with a small frown.

 

“What is it? You don’t think we should?”

 

        Gwaine looks down to Merlin’s sleeping form, at the bandages that, even after being changed not an hour before, are stained red. “I think that it still might be too soon to do this with Merlin.”

 

“How so?”

 

        Gwaine sighs, eyes never leaving Merlin’s face. His frown becomes less one of concern and more one of thought, and he brushes his fingers along Merlin’s wan cheeks. “Just…just as long as we only talk about the curse. I don’t think Merlin will be up to telling any of his stories, and I’m sure that Arthur will want to know, but I don’t want him to get worked up in his state.”

 

        Gwen watches him, her gaze piercing and thoughtful, until she sits back and nods, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Alright, that’s completely fair. I’ll do what I can to keep the conversation on topic.”

 

“As soon as I judge it to be too much for Merlin, they’re out.”

 

“And I’ll be the one to slam the door, I promise.” Gwen smiles at him, her expression both gentle and fierce in her protectiveness of Merlin.

 

        Gwaine nods, satisfied that he at least has the Queen on his side to reign in the jealous, protective, and temperamental whirlwind that is the King of Camelot.

 

        Just as Gwaine and Gwen have settled into a comfortable silence, the door swings open to let in Arthur, Leon, and Percival. It’s clear that they have all forsaken a proper bath after training, but they’ve tried, having wiped the dirt and sweat from their faces and arms. Gwen raises her eyebrows at the lot of them. “Well, good afternoon. I suppose the training went well?”

 

        Arthur doesn’t bother with a vocal reply, simply coming over to place a kiss to the top of Gwen’s head. He steps around Aithusa, not bothering to acknowledge her with even a glance. Leon greets Gwen, and takes a seat at the table, while Percival stalks over to Gwaine.

 

“How is he?” Percival’s voice is low, and Gwaine lets some tension leave his body. At least Percival has come to terms fairly quickly with Merlin’s magic.

 

“Still in a lot of pain, but he’s lucid when he wakes up.”

 

        Percival nods and his expression softens, leaving them to sit at the table with Leon. Gwen watches him leave with a suspicious glint in her eye, turned accusatory when put on Gwaine. “Why does Percival know?”

 

“We weren’t exactly keeping it a secret, My Lady. It’s just that in the last four months, we have had very few royal visits.” Gwaine doesn’t feel any guilt at the slight flinch the Queen gives in response.

 

        The knights and the king set about grabbing food and piling it onto plates; Arthur prepares one for Gwen as well. In Gwaine’s lap, Merlin shifts; the noise drags him up from his fitful slumber. He blinks at Gwaine, giving him a small smile.

 

“Hello, love,” Gwaine strokes a hand across Merlin’s chest. “We have company.”

 

        Merlin raises his eyebrows in a _no, really?_ , type of way, and Gwaine chuckles lowly. “Would you like to try and eat something? Bread? Fruit?”

 

“Bread would be nice.” Merlin’s voice is raspy and thick, and Gwaine feels his heart clench. He leans down to give Merlin a quick kiss, and he gently slides out from underneath him, keeping his head elevated until he can place it back on the pillow. He fixes Merlin’s blanket, pulling it up to cover his chest, and turns to see most of the room’s occupants openly staring. Most, being everyone excluding Arthur, who is pointedly looking at anything _except_ Merlin and Gwaine. Gwen looks fond, but also a little disappointed (Gwaine imagined it is because she never realized), and Leon is gaping, brows knit together in confusion. Percival is just pleased, clearly entertained by the fact that Leon has finally realized.

 

        Gwaine walks past everyone, grabbing meat and cheese and fruit for himself, and a couple of slices of bread for Merlin. Returning to the cot, he places the plate on Merlin’s lap, and slides an arm behind his shoulders help him sit up. Gwaine slides into place at his back, with Merlin falling back gently against his chest. Gwaine sneaks his arms around Merlin’s waist, one hand reaching to grab a cherry tomato from the plate, the other held flat on Merlin’s stomach.

 

“Um, if I may…” Leon’s tone is uncertain, and a little higher pitched than normal, and it makes Gwaine smirk into the side of Merlin’s neck. Percival snickers from where he is sitting across from Leon.

 

        Leon sends Percival a scalding look, and turns back to Gwaine. Gwaine, in turn, stares at Leon with a quirked brow, hand stroking up and down Merlin’s side. Leon flushes, and turns his head away first. “I, ah, I assume that you and Merlin are – _you and Merlin_?”

 

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Leon.” Yet as he says that, Gwaine continues to stroke Merlin’s side, twining their fingers together with his other hand.

 

        Leon turns an even darker shade of red, and stutters something about courting, and Merlin gently elbows Gwaine in the side. “Gwaine. Stop teasing him.”

 

        Gwaine cracks a smile, and gives Merlin a kiss on the cheek. “Fine. But for him to not have realized, even after all this time, he deserves it.”

 

        Merlin looks at Gwaine, eyes not as bright and full of life as Gwaine is familiar with, but there is a twinkle of fondness and mischief that sends tingles down his spine and makes him scrunch his toes, leaning close and tucking his nose in the crook of his neck and breathes deep. “I suppose so,” he whispers. Gwaine can feel his smile pressed against his skin.

 

“What’s all of this racket?” A creak of wood announces Gaius’ presence back in the main chambers, and all of its occupants turn to watch Gaius approach the group at the table. Aithusa runs up to him and presses to his side, letting him lean on her as he walks.

 

        He observes the room, and the people who have taken over his work space completely and without thought, until his sight rests on his two foster sons in the corner. “Completely shameless, I keep telling you.”

 

        Merlin gives him a shy smile, and Gwaine grins at him, rubbing his hand down Merlin’s arm. “Morning, Gaius. Nice of you to join us.”

 

        Gaius only hums in response, making his way over to the cot. The others avert their eyes as Gaius proceeds to check Merlin over, undoing his bandages, poking and prodding his wounds and asking quiet questions regarding his physical and mental well-being.

 

        Newly bandaged and comfortable, Merlin is left to Gwaine’s attentive care; he folds himself to fit the lines of Gwaine’s chest. He’s finally begun to eat the bread that Gwaine brought him, tearing it into small pieces. Gwaine hums approvingly as he slowly manages to finish a slice, before he starts tearing up the second slice for him. Merlin gives him a pointed glare, but Gwaine ignores him and continues breaking the bread with a playful pinch to his side.

 

        At the table with the knights and the king, Gaius has made himself a plate of food, thrown a whole chicken down to Aithusa beside the table, and managed to ignore the impatient shuffling of the others while he ate. Now that he’s done, however, he knows that he can’t put it off any longer. He looks over at Gwen, Gwaine and Merlin, meeting Gwaine’s eyes, and the knight give him the slightest of nods. Gaius sighs, and knits his hands together, placing them on the thick wooden surface of the table.

 

“Well? Where should we start today?”

 

        Arthur speaks up first, his voice and countenance confidant and business-like. “The curse. Did you and Gwaine manage to find something?”

 

        Gaius sighs again, shoulders slumping. “No. There are still _some_ books that we can look through, but in the ones that would have most likely had the answer, we found nothing that could teach us of which curse it is, or anything similar.”

 

“Nothing?” Arthur’s whole body slumps in defeat, and he looks to Gwaine, whose expression only shows grim determination.

 

“We’ll find something, Princess. We won’t stop looking.”

 

        Gaius nods. “However, Merlin _did_ give us some clues as to the nature of the curse.”

 

        Arthur, Gwen and the knights all immediately perk up, turning so that they can all see the warlock. Merlin tries to say something, but has to clear his throat and try again, coughing and pushing himself farther up against Gwaine’s chest. Gwaine hoists him up, fingers splayed flat on his chest, steadying Merlin against the onslaught of his heaving lungs.

 

        Gwen has risen from her seat during Merlin’s coughing fit, and now she is hovering at the bedside, hands reaching for Merlin, but not touching, unsure of where to touch without aggravating his numerous wounds. Merlin, however, is oblivious, trying to breathe through another carving, this time one on the back of his shoulder. Gwaine notices immediately, now able to recognize the signs of a new carving, and rubs the area underneath the wounds soothingly, leaning over the bed to look for the towel and bucket that he had left nearby that morning.

 

        It’s not where he left it, but he can’t leave Merlin, so Gwaine turns to the queen, who had watched the rune carve itself into Merlin’s back. She is holding a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. “Gwen. Gwen, he’s ok, I just need you to get a towel for me, please? And some hot water?”

 

        Now that she is needed to help, Gwen snaps to attention, brushing her hands on her skirts, nodding her head furiously. “Of course. _Of course_. I’ll get it right away.”

 

        Gwaine smiles at her. “Thank you.”

 

        Slowly and gently, he pulls Merlin back to him, his hand constantly rubbing underneath the tender area of the new wound, hopefully giving him a slight distraction from the pain. He whispers words of comfort in his ear, letting him know that he’s there and that Merlin is safe in his room. Gwaine doesn’t notice when Gaius shows up next to them, but he silently hands Gwaine another bottle of the sleeping draught he had made up that morning, the one strong enough to knock Merlin out. Gwaine nods in thanks, and Gaius pats his shoulder, combing his fingers through Merlin’s hair before he heads back to his spot at the table. He knows that Gwaine will be more of a comfort to Merlin in that moment, and that they’ve already done all that they can for him up to this point.

 

        Arthur, Percival and Leon are sitting at the table, watching the entire attack unfold. All three of them realize that as long as they don’t know anything about the curse, there is nothing to be done to prevent any future attacks. They’ll watch as Merlin becomes trapped in his bed, becomes a shadow of his former self as his body breaks and tears in strange, ancient patterns of blood without reason or control.

 

        Gwen returns to the bedside with the bucket of hot water and clean towels, placing one of the towels in Gwaine’s waiting hand. He immediately sets about cleaning the new wound, never stopping his whispered affections and words of comfort. Gwen sits on the bed, holding Merlin’s head in her hands, stroking his cheek with her thumb. Aithusa lays in front of them, head resting on Gwen’s lap.

 

        Arthur turns to Gaius, a fierce look on his face. “Why? I know you said that Merlin was _born_ with magic, but this – this is just extreme. It’s carving him to pieces, and there’s _nothing_ we can do!”

 

        Gaius shakes his head, his entire body weighed down with a sense of defeat. “From what Merlin’s said…it’s a curse that _binds_ magic. The druids have somehow managed to lock magic inside of the earth, keeping it from being used by people, nature and beasts alike.”

 

        Percival leans forward in his seat, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would that affect Merlin to such an extent?”

 

        Gaius sighs again, looking at his hands clenched tightly together in his lap. “Merlin…is a creature of the Old Religion. He is a being of magic; it is as much a source of life to him as the air we breathe or the water we drink.”

 

        From where she is sitting with Merlin and Gwaine, Gwen appears horrified, while Percival and Leon look as though they’ve been struck, and Arthur slightly nauseous.

 

        Arthur clears his throat. “You mean to say that…if we do not find a way to return magic to the land, Merlin will die.”

 

        The distress in Gaius’ eyes is answer enough, but before he can answer, Merlin speaks up from the cot. “That’s not _completely_ accurate.”

 

        The people sitting around the table turn to look at Merlin, who has leaned away from Gwen’s hands and is slumped against Gwaine once more, his head pillowed on Gwaine’s shoulder, the one closest to them. Gwaine’s face is hidden from view, where it’s pressed tightly to where Merlin’s shoulder meets his neck; his entire being is cradling Merlin like he’s the most wonderful and precious thing in the world; everything that Gwaine could ever want and need. He’s holding him like Merlin can be taken away from him with a moment’s notice.

 

 _And it would be my fault_ , Arthur thinks with a pained grimace.

 

“What do you mean, Merlin?”

 

        Merlin shifts, turning to that he is facing the rest of them properly. Gwaine lifts his head from Merlin’s shoulder, sniffing loudly and avoiding the others’ gazes. He simply rests his cheek on Merlin’s shoulder, face turned the other way. Merlin squeezes his hand, where it is still wrapped securely around his waist. “It’s more like…I’ll fade away.”

 

        Arthur isn’t impressed. “That’s dying, Merlin.”

 

“No, I mean,” Merlin gives an exasperated huff. “I won’t _die_ without magic. My body won’t, anyways. But, if I don’t get it back, I – if I don’t get it back, I think that all you’ll have left of me by the end of this is an empty shell. Magic is too much a part of me – my soul will not survive being separated from it.”

 

        Gwaine chokes a laugh. “Merlin, love, you’re not helping.”

 

        Merlin leans his head back, knocking it to Gwaine’s. Merlin lifts a hand from his lap, and slips his fingers in Gwaine’s hair, tugging lightly, but he doesn’t look away from Arthur. “I am not the only who is affected, Arthur. There was no way for you to know how closely intertwined magic is with everything. It’s not loud, or bright, or hot or cold. It’s just _there_. It pulses like a heartbeat under the soil. And what’s left of it is fading, fast.”

 

“The crops will go first, and then the forests. The animals will starve and die, and any and all magical guardians, gods, and beasts will slowly fade away along with me.”

 

        Gwen leaves Merlin’s side to sit by Arthur, whose face has gone slack, his expression closed off and shoulders slumped. Percival’s head is bowed as if in mourning, and Leon’s head is in his hands.

 

        Gaius huffs, and gets up to start a pot of tea. Merlin closes his eyes, trying to fight off the exhaustion creeping into his bones, breathing through the fog of pain. Gwaine presses his nose to the side of his face, inhaling deeply. “Ok, love?”

“Hmm.”

 

        Gwaine sighs, and shifts slightly underneath Merlin, trying to get more comfortable. The others at the table are quiet, shoulders slumped under the weight of the news Merlin’s presented to them. Gaius silently pours everyone a cup of tea, and Merlin coughs softly, trying to get everyone’s attention.

 

        Arthur looks up first, “What is it, Merlin?” He sounds tired.

 

        Merlin opens his mouth and closes it again, looking _nervous_ of all things. But Gwaine gives Merlin a squeeze, and Merlin’s eyes harden, and he says the very last thing that Arthur expected to hear: “I think that the only hope we have of finding a way to break the curse is to speak to the Great Dragon.”

 

        The expression on Arthur’s face is hard to explain; a mix between grief, incredulity, and horror. Merlin shrinks from it, and Gwaine immediately envelops him, eyes narrowing at Arthur, shoulders tense.

 

        It doesn’t take long: “Right. Something we found out last night struck me as a little odd. And _now_ , well, _now_ , I am very curious as to how you’ll be able to explain yourself.”

 

“ _Arthur-”_ Gwaine’s voice is more growl than anything else, but Merlin puts a placating hand on his arm.

 

        Arthur continues as if Gwaine hadn’t spoken, anyways. “You’re a Dragonlord. So, obviously after your recent revelations, I just figured that _you_ were the one who killed the dragon instead. But _no_ ; I find out that the monster that terrorized my people and killed dozens is in fact _still alive_.”

 

“And under my orders, he will never land in Camelot or attack its people ever again.” Merlin holds himself steady under Arthur’s furious gaze, but he can feel the strain in keeping himself upright already beginning to tire himself out.

 

“ _Under your orders?_ It’s a _dragon_ , Merlin, and what I don’t understand is _how_ could you have just _stood_ _there_ while Camelot’s people were _burning_ –”

 

“Alright, Princess, _that’s enough_ –”

 

“You _cannot_ speak to your king that way, _Sir Gwaine_ –”

 

“ _That is enough!”_ Gwen is standing, her hands in tight fists at her side. Percival, Leon, and Gaius have all been watching the exchange with wide eyes, and Arthur looks incredulously at his wife.

 

“ _Gwen_. What are you going on about? Merlin is a –”

 

“A warlock. A Dragonlord. Your manservant. Your _best friend._ And he’s _cursed_. Your best friend is cursed, and he is going to _die_ , Arthur Pendragon, unless we figure out a way to break it. And in all honesty, Arthur, you lost your chance to be angry after you ignored Merlin the first time he tried to speak to you. Now you will sit here and _listen_ , or God help me, I will escort you out of these chambers myself.”

 

        All occupants of the room are rendered speechless. Arthur gapes at his wife, and Percival and Leon look anywhere _but_ at the queen. Arthur turns to Gaius, perhaps looking for some kind of support, but Gaius raises his hands _and_ his eyebrows, and shakes his head as if to say, _no, nope I am_ not _getting in between the two of you._ Arthur gestures dramatically with his hands, giving an exasperated huff, and looks back at his wife. His wife, whose hands are on her hips, toes tapping an impatient, staccato rhythm on the floor, and whose eyes are staring holes into Arthur’s entire being.

 

“Well?” It isn’t really a question, and Arthur knows it. He swallows.

 

“Fine.”

 

        Gwen’s posture changes immediately, expression softening and smile turning gentle. She claps her hands together, eyes shining, and leans to place a kiss on Arthur’s cheek. “Good.”

 

        Gwen turns and makes her way back to Merlin’s bedside, where she retakes her place in the chair she has occupied for most of the morning. Aithusa stands and creeps around the knights to take her own place at Gwen’s feet, dropping her head in the queen’s lap. Arthur immediately opens his mouth to protest, but Gwen sends him a sharp look and begins to pet the dragon on the head, shocking Arthur enough to stop anything from coming out of his mouth.

 

        When Arthur surveys the room for possible allies, he finds that Percival and Leon are both wide-eyed and look as though they saw something they should never have seen, Gaius has that awful, smug little smile on his face, Gwaine looks the most relaxed he’s seen him all day, and Merlin, _Merlin_ , looks positively _bored_.

 

        He can’t decide which is worse, so he settles for looking at the floor.

 

        Until Merlin breaks the silence, his voice low and scratchy without any of the chatter and familiar noises of the physician’s chamber to buffer the effects of the curse. “Do you know how a Dragonlord gains his powers, Arthur?”

 

        Arthur’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, and he shakes his head.

 

“It is passed down, from father to son, after the death of the father. I didn’t even know who he was before we set out to find him.”

 

        Arthur frowns, thrown back for a moment by Merlin’s second statement, until realization dawns in his eyes and he breathes a soundless _oh._ “Balinor was your father.”

 

        Gaius clears his throat and leans forward, hands clasped. “The reason that Merlin did not know the identity of his father…was the fault of myself and his mother, Hunith. I knew because I was the one who had helped Balinor escape Camelot, and because Hunith told me. It was her wish that Merlin did not know of his father’s identity.”

 

        Arthur shakes his head, confused. “Why would keeping the identity of Merlin’s father a secret be good? I mean, Merlin grew up as a, well, as a _bastard_ ,” Arthur sends a sheepish look Gwen’s way, who is glaring daggers at him, “and they were not even _in_ Camelot.”

 

        Gaius sighs, “Uther was furious that Balinor escaped. He chased him to Ealdor, and Balinor had to leave. Uther knew how the power of the Dragonlord was passed down, and if Merlin was identified as his son, he would surely have been sentenced to death on the spot, even if Merlin had no idea of his father’s powers.”

 

        Arthur sinks back into his chair, molding to its shape. “But why? Merlin had no choice in his parentage. He didn’t even know.”

 

“Your father would not have cared; nor would he have hesitated in his decision. You were born Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, and the Once and Future King of Albion, and Merlin was born a Warlock, the Last Dragonlord, and Emrys, the most powerful magic-user to ever walk the earth. There are some things, Arthur, that are inescapable and unchangeable. You can fight it, but as you now know, there can be severe consequences.” Gaius’ expression softens, and he reaches across the table to pat Arthur’s hand. “But that’s changing now, isn’t, Arthur?”

 

        Arthur sighs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hands. He turns so that when he looks up, he’s facing Merlin. Merlin had been lying back against Gwaine while Gaius spoke, his eyes closed and hands relaxed in his lap. When he feels Arthur’s eyes on him, however, he turns, letting Gwaine handle him into a position where he can easily face Arthur.

 

“Yes. It’s changing. I promise. We’ll figure this out, and it will be better.”

 

        Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze and doesn’t look away until a few moments later, seemingly satisfied with what he finds in Arthur’s expression. Merlin hums, letting slip a small smile. Mollified, Gwaine _slightly_ relaxes his grip on Merlin’s waist.

 

“So,” Leon leans forward in his seat, “how do we find the dragon?”

 

        They all turn again to face Merlin, Gwen pausing in her affections to Aithusa. Merlin gestures to her, and the dragon chirps and glides over to him. “I won’t be able to call Kilgharrah so we’re just going to have to let Aithusa bring us to him. She can let him know that we’re coming, but I don’t want him to have to come to us.”

 

“Yes, don’t want to cause any problems for the bloody _dragon_ , now, do we, _Mer_ lin?” If Arthur’s tone wasn’t enough to tell how he felt about _that_ , then the way he throws his hands in the air and the incredulous expression on his face gave it away for sure.

 

        Merlin doesn’t rise to the bait. “He’s old, Arthur. Honestly, I didn’t think that I would see him again; we’ve already said our farewells.”

 

        Arthur frowns, “But you know that he’s still alive?”

 

“Yes, but I can feel that it’s not for much longer.”

 

        Aithusa cries from her spot in Gwen’s lap, and Gwen strokes her neck, shushing her. Gwen looks at Arthur then, her eyes full of conviction. “Then we leave as soon as possible. There is no time to waste.”

 

“How do we get Aithusa out of the grounds?” Percival stands up, placing his hands on his hips. “Honestly, I’m still not completely sure how you got her _in_ here.”

 

        At that, Merlin’s eyes flash with mischief. “Oh, Percival, you have _no_ _idea_ how easy it is to get and out of the castle.”

 

        Arthur makes a noise of frustration, “Yes, if you’re a _warlock_ , who also happens to be the _most powerful magic user in the world_.”

 

        Merlin keeps his mouth shut, but he’s avoiding Arthur’s eyes. Gwaine is obviously trying to keep from smiling, his teeth biting into his lip and face turned into Merlin’s neck. Even _Gwen_ looks a little guilty.

“Oh, for the _love_ of _God –_ ”

***

“You shouldn’t come with us, Merlin. You’re too weak.”

 

        Merlin looks at Arthur from where he’s still slumped against Gwaine. He’ll admit that he’s not in the best of shape, and already he can feel whatever energy he had at the beginning of their meeting fading fast. “No way. That won’t help anyone.”

 

        Arthur raises a disbelieving brow, “How do you suppose? You can’t even get out of bed.”

 

“Arthur, I have the curse _carved into my skin_. The easiest way for Kilgharrah to try and identify the curse will be if he can see the runes. Plus, I don’t really trust that you’ll understand what he’s talking about when it comes to magic.”

 

“ _Mer_ lin, I am perfectly capable of understanding some, some _dragon_ , talk about some magical curse.”

 

“Arthur. You don’t even know what _you’re_ talking about. I’m going, and there’s really nothing you can do to convince me it’s not necessary.”

 

        Arthur huffs, and looks to Gwaine. Gwaine only shrugs, having intimate knowledge of how stubborn Merlin can be when he wants to be. He lowers his voice so that only Merlin can hear.“There’s no changing your mind, love? Surely even you are aware at how weak you are right now.”

 

        Merlin lets slip a small sigh, and Aithusa flutters her wings. “It’s the only way.”

 

        Gwaine meets Arthur’s eyes. “We all go together.”

 

        Arthur sighs, turning away. Gwen leans forward to place a hand on Merlin’s knee, a small smile gracing her lips, before she gets up to go to Arthur. She whispers something into his hair, and he nods, standing up as well.

 

        When their king stands, Percival and Leon move to stand as well. Gaius raises his eyebrows at the lot of them, but stays silent.

 

        Arthur clears his throat. “Well, I suppose that’s enough for now. We can let Merlin…rest, and reconvene tomorrow.” Gwen beams at him. “We’ll plan on leaving in two days’ time, and tomorrow we can figure out all of the details.”

 

        Merlin hums in agreement, but he can already feel himself being pulled back under the blanket of unconsciousness, having exhausted himself emotionally.

 

        Gaius quickly rises from his bench, waving his hands at the knights and monarchs. “Off with you! I have a patient to care for!”

 

        Arthur and the knight all turn on their heels, not wanting to be told off by Gaius twice, and Gwen hovers for a moment to take Gaius’ hand in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Send for me, if you need any more help, Gaius.”

 

“I will, my Lady.”

***

        Merlin and Gwaine are alone the rest of the afternoon. Gaius has left Merlin in Gwaine’s tender care while he went to consult some books that he had requested Geoffrey find for him in the library.

 

        They’re sprawled out together on the cot; Gwaine at the head of the bed, cross-legged and relaxed, and Merlin is lying on his back, his head cushioned on Gwaine’s thigh, forehead pressed into Gwaine’s belly.

 

        Gwaine is rubbing salve into some of the newer wounds, hands slow and fingers light.

 

        Merlin smiles into Gwaine’s shirt, hand reaching up to stroke Gwaine’s arm. “You’re too good to me.”

 

“Most of the time, I’m thinking that I’m not good enough.” Merlin’s eyes soften and he noses Gwaine’s shirt up to place a kiss to his stomach.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“There is nothing you have to be sorry for, love.”

 

        Merlin tenses when Gwaine reaches a particularly sensitive wound, his fingers tightening around Gwaine’s wrist. “Everything. This curse. It’s going to kill me, Gwaine. And then it will kill everyone else.”

 

“Being cursed has made you much more ominous, love.” Merlin lets a small smile show, but Gwaine can’t count that as a victory; not when he knows how Merlin’s dark mood is justified. “We’ll stop this. We’ll figure this out.”

 

        Merlin stares up at Gwaine from his spot on his lap, hand reaching up to so that his fingers brush his jaw. He turns to lightly press his lips to those fingertips. “I’ll do it on my own, if I have to. Anything for you, Merlin. _Anything_.”

 

        There are three words left unsaid, restrained by what Gwaine’s knows to be an irrational fear, an insecurity that Merlin had put to rest months before.

 

“I love you,” because Merlin always will be the braver one of the two of them, no matter what anyone said.

 

“And I you,” Gwaine drops his hand from Merlin’s, and combs his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “More than anything.”

 

***

        Two days pass; Merlin and Arthur argue about whether or not they should bring a cart for Merlin to ride in, but Merlin manages to convinces him that Kilgharrah’s in the mountains, and a cart will only slow them down. He’s going to ride with Gwaine, no matter how uncomfortable it will be with all of his injuries.

 

        It takes three days to reach the white mountains, and another day of walking before they find the caves where he’s made his home. Merlin leans heavily on Gwaine on the way up the mountain, and the knights all share a worried glance. _It’s affecting him too much, and too quickly._

 

        The mouth of the cave is larger than any the king and knights have seen before, but Merlin and Aithusa don’t hesitate in entering. Gwaine, being Merlin’s crutch, follows immediately, and the knights bring up the rear. Merlin loosens himself from Gwaine’s grip, and limps forward, coming up to the giant form of the Great Dragon.

 

“Kilgharrah.” Merlin is relaxed and unafraid in the presence of the dragon, but Arthur, Percival and Leon are having a hard time concealing their unease. Merlin looks over his shoulder at the others in amusement, and Gwaine settles himself on the rocks, relaxed as can be.

 

“Hello, Young Warlock.”

 

        Arthur and the knights watch in awe as the dragon lowers his head and leans into Merlin’s space, his golden snout just brushing Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin says something in a deep, guttural language, and Kilgharrah responds in kind, almost appearing to be gentle.

 

        Aithusa huddles next to Gwaine, unsure of how to approach the older dragon, and eventually, the king and knights join her, not knowing what else to do while they wait for Merlin to finish speaking with Kilgharrah. Gwaine hums in amusement at his companions’ nervousness, but otherwise keeps his eyes on Merlin.

 

        Eventually, the conversation between warlock and dragon stops, and Merlin looks over his shoulder at Gwaine, giving his head a slight nod, a _will you come over here for a moment?_ , clear in his expression.

 

        Gwaine huffs, pushing hard off of his knees as he climbs to his feet. Merlin immediately reaches for him as soon as Gwaine is in his space, and Kilgharrah’s warm breath moves his hair from his face.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

        Merlin looks uneasily at the rest of their group behind Gwaine, and Gwaine knows that they’re all openly staring at the three of them, even if none of them will approach or try to interrupt.

 

“I need to show him the runes.”

 

 _Ah_. “Do you want them to leave?”

 

        Merlin tilts his head, considering his options, but shakes his head. “It’ll be easier to just get it over with and have the discussion all together, rather than have it twice.” He bites his lip, and lowers his voice so that only Gwaine can hear. “Can you help me? I can’t take everything off myself.”

 

“‘Course, love.”

 

        There’s a hiss of sympathy from one of the knights, probably Leon, as Gwaine helps Merlin out of his tunic and bandages. There are about nine full runes carved into his skin, tearing across his chest, shoulders, stomach, and upper back. Kilgharrah brings his face close, eyes narrowing at the bloody lines.

 

        At the dragon’s silence, it’s Merlin’s turn to narrow his eyes. “You recognize them.” His tone isn’t accusing, but only just.

 

        Kilgharrah sighs, and lifts his head to settle comfortably on his forelegs. “I do.”

 

        Arthur finally overcomes his fear _–_ or forgets about it, more likely _–_ and steps forward. “You know what it is? You know what we can do to stop it?”

 

        Kilgharrah huffs _–_ _he does that a lot, doesn’t he?_ _–_ and he looks at Arthur. Arthur doesn’t flinch at having all of the dragon’s attention, but he does widen his stance, probably subconsciously.

 

“It’s a curse, that much is obvious to all. But it’s not a curse on the young warlock. It’s a binding curse.”

 

“What does that mean?” Arthur doesn’t really know how the two could be different, seeing how it’s affected Merlin so drastically, but Merlin is nodding, eyes far off and brow furrowed.

 

“That’s what I thought. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I can _feel_ it. It’s like _–_ ”

 

“You said it was like being held under water, but not being able to break the surface.”

 

        Merlin nods at Gwaine, and looks up at Kilgharrah. “It’s different from when Morgana took magic from me. Now, it burns like fire under my skin, as powerful as ever, but I can’t touch it. It’s…”

 

“It’s tearing you apart, Merlin.” The gravity of the dragon’s tone is enough to give everyone chills, and Arthur is left speechless for a moment. He clears his throat.

 

“So, Kilgharrah, what do you believe is the source of this curse?”

 

        Kilgharrah _hums_ , and crosses his front feet in front of him, very sphinx-like. “In order to have bound magic so thoroughly, I imagine they would need to have anchors in separate locations, all of them having a very close relation to magic.”

 

“Seal it where it’s at its strongest.” Merlin’s eyes are bright.

 

“Yes. But to cast such a powerful curse, breaking it will be difficult. The Old Religions demands balance, and bala --”

 

“Balance in everything, yes.” Merlin is waving his hand dismissively, and the knights cannot fathom having such a relationship with a _dragon_ that you can wave it aside like a child.

 

        Arthur looks from Kilgharrah to Merlin, waiting for one of them to explain. _Is this what Merlin’s been dealing with for the past decade?_ “Well? What do we have to do?”

 

        Merlin sighs. “We have to go on a quest. We believe that in order to bind magic so completely, the druids would have had to set up the ritual in several locations, all of which would be very closely tied to magic. Four, probably, one location for each direction. We just need to figure out what the locations could be.”

 

        Merlin gently lowers himself onto the ground beside Kilgharrah’s front legs, and Gwaine drops down beside him. Arthur and the knights cautiously approach, and sit across from them. None of them really know how they can contribute to the conversation. Aithusa bounds up to Merlin, curling herself around his back and lowering her head to rest on one of Kilgharrah’s talons.

 

“What about the Crystal Cave?.”

 

        Kilgharrah hums in acknowledgement. “That is most probable.”

 

        Arthur looks at Merlin. “The Crystal Cave?”

 

“The Crystal Cave is the birthplace of magic. It is a most sacred place of the old religion, and only a select few have the power to stand in its presence without losing their mind.”

 

“Sounds lovely.”

 

        Merlin smiles at Arthur’s grimace. “It...has a power unlike anything I have ever felt, Arthur. It has shown me visions of everything that was, is and will be. It has brought me to the edge of madness, and it’s brought me back from the brink of death. It is not a power to be trifled with.”

 

        Arthur lets that information sink in in silence, and Leon speaks up for the first time since they’ve arrived at the cave. “Why is it called the Crystal Cave?”

 

“Do you remember the Crystal of Neahtid?”

 

        Leon frowns. “The crystal from the vaults that was stolen by some Druids years ago?”

 

        Merlin nods, confessing that there was another culprit to that particular crime. “Morgana helped Mordred steal the crystal from the vaults. The Crystal Cave is where the Crystal of Neahtid is from, except that every inch of the cave is covered with them.”

 

“And you say that one crystal is enough to drive someone mad?” Leon stares wide-eyed at Merlin, his face draining of colour.

 

“Yes.” Merlin leans over, into Gwaine’s side, and the knight reaches up to curl his fingers into the short, soft curls at the nape of Merlin’s neck. Percival clears his throat, putting himself at the centre of attention.

 

“Merlin...you said that the cave brought you back from the brink of death.”

 

        It wasn’t phrased like a question, more like a statement. Merlin sighs. “It was...right before we were supposed to ride out for Camlann. Mordred had revealed my identity as Emrys to Morgana, and she sent a creature of dark magic after me. It took my magic. I was...completely helpless. But I figured that if I had any chance of finding my magic once more, the cave would be the place to look first.

 

“So I went there, but Morgana was already waiting for me. We fought, as much as I could fight her in my state, and she struck me down, letting the cave collapse on top of me. She left me there.”

 

        Merlin blinks a couple of times, clearing his throat and shaking his head, acting like he’s brushing away a bad memory like it’s a physical thing. “Obviously, I found my magic, and I rode out to join you at Camlann. You all know what happened from there, but you just didn’t know it was me.”

 

        Arthur frowns, feeling as though he is missing a vital piece of information. “But you said that at that time, too, you were missing your magic. It was taken, like now, but you were able to get it back.”

 

“Well, just leave it to you to not listen. That was different. It was more like...my magic was moved. I’m different than other sorcerers. While others _use_ magic, I _am_ magic. It’s not something you can really take away from me. However, binding it, or sealing it…”

 

“...would be the equivalent of cutting off an airway,” Arthur finishes. Merlin nods, giving him a tired, apologetic smile, slumping against Gwaine.

 

“So...what are the other possible locations we should be considering?” Leon and Percival lean forward, now that they have a purpose, a goal that they can work towards, and in their focus, seem to lose their earlier anxiety and tension.

 

        Kilgharrah hums, “There are too many to choose from, knight. Too narrow them down to only four without any kind of knowledge as to _how_ these locations were chosen, would be...difficult, to say the least.”

 

“Alright, then. So what _are_ our options? Possibilities?” Arthur asks, not willing to be left out of the conversation for long.

 

        Kilgharrah grunts, “The Isle of the Blessed?”

 

        Merlin nods in agreement. “The Perilous Lands?”

 

“The Fisher King’s realm? No, I don’t think so. His lands are too raw, the magic too wild and sparse to be efficiently tethered.”

 

“And I suppose his trident _is_ in Camelot. I can’t really think of anything else they would use, anyways.”

 

“That is true. And what about Queen Mab’s lands, Young Warlock?”

 

        Merlin hums thoughtfully.

 

 _The Fisher King? Wild Magic? Queen Mab?_ Too late, Arthur realizes that there is too much he truly doesn’t know, that he refused to listen to, and now he can do very little but sit and wait and listen until someone tells him what to do. _I’ve dug my own grave._ “Who’s Queen Mab?”

 

“She’s the ruler of the Impenetrable Forest.” At the looks of confusion from Arthur and two of the knights, Merlin sighs. “She’s a fairy queen; loves riddles and rhymes more than Kilgharrah does. But she helped me figure out how to lead you through the forest to the dark tower.” He purses his lips, “Actually, it’s definitely worth considering. The Impenetrable Forest is old magic, and very powerful magic.”

 

        Arthur nods, as if he know what that means. “Ah,” he clears his throat, “so...there are still two more locations to decide on.”

 

        Merlin quirks an eyebrow. “We can’t be sure that these are the actual locations we need. There are also other location we need to consider, such as the Tomb of Ashkanar, the Great Stones of Nemeton, the Labyrinth of Gedref, the Pool of Nemhain, The Dark Tower…”

 

        Arthur can feel his face flush, but he grumbles and does his best to hide his embarrassment. “ _Mer_ lin, how can there be _that_ many locations? Surely we would know of all of the magical locations in the kingdom.”

 

        Merlin quirks an amused brow, his expression saying _really, Arthur? Let’s not get into that right now._

 

        Merlin settles against Gwaine, returning to his thoughts. Arthur doesn’t pretend to know what the dragon is doing, so he waits for Merlin to gather all of his thoughts.

 

        It doesn’t take long: Merlin sits up, his brow bunched together, and mouth a grim line.

 

        Kilgharrah tilts his head, but doesn’t say anything. Merlin shifts, uncomfortable, against Gwaine. Arthur raises a brow, “Well?”

 

“Well, I’m just worried...what if they used the Lake as one of the bindings for the curse?

 

        Kilgharrah turns sharply to Merlin. “The Lake? Why would you think that, Merlin?”

 

        Merlin cringes away from the dragon’s scrutiny, but he continues; “Even compared to all other locations, the Lake has significant meaning and power.”

 

“Ok, why is this lake a big deal? And what lake are we talking about?”

 

“We speak of the Lake of Avalon, Pendragon.” At the mention of the Lake of Avalon, Leon, Percival and Arthur turn to look at each other, each recognizing that none of them know what’s going on. Kilgharrah heaves a sigh, sounding disappointed. “The Lake of Avalon is the gateway to the land of the Sidhe --”

 

“ _Nasty_ things, the Sidhe.”

 

        Kilgharrah shoots Merlin a glare, clearly saying _now’s not the time, Merlin_ , and turns back to look at Arthur.

 

“And also the gateway to Avalon, the place of resting for great heroes and kings.”

 

        Arthur frowns, “But you keep talking about ‘tethering’ and ‘binding’ _–_ what could be used to do such a thing _in a lake?_ ”

 

“Freya.” Arthur barely hears Merlin’s whisper, and he turns in time to see his eyes fill with despair before he’s hidden behind his hands and tucked into Gwaine’s side.

 

        Arthur looks up to the dragon. “Freya?”

 

        For the first time, Kilgharrah hesitates, and it makes Arthur’s insides squirm. He says, finally, “The Lady of the Lake. She and Merlin...are very close.”

 

“Oh.” Arthur has never heard of her before, and given Merlin’s reaction...perhaps he doesn’t want to know.

 

        Kilgharrah sighs, and moves to stand. Aithusa yelps, surprised at the sudden movement after finally getting comfortable, and turns as if ready to head back into the depths of the cave. “Where are you going? We’re not done talking about this, yet!” Arthur hollers after him, but the dragon pays him no mind. Instead, he focuses on Merlin, bringing his large snout down to the ground, at his level.

 

“There is nothing more for me to tell you, Young Warlock. Beyond this, I cannot help you, because this is all I know of the nature of this curse.”

 

 _So I guess this means it’s time to say goodbye._ He places his hand on Kilgharrah’s snout, not looking away from his friend while speaking to Arthur and the knights. “Will you go and wait outside the cave? We’ll only be a moment.”

 

        He doesn’t hear any verbal reply, only the shuffling of feet and clinking of chainmail, and shortly, it’s only Merlin, Aithusa, Gwaine and Kilgharrah left in the cavern.

 

***

        Merlin touches his forehead to Kilgharrah’s scales, and sighs. “I thought that we had already said our final farewells, but it seems so much harder now.”

 

        Kilgharrah huffs in amusement, nudging Merlin with his snout.

 

“Farewell, Strength.” Only one golden eye is visible when standing so close, but it’s enough to send shivers down Gwaine’s spine.

 

“I’ve heard that before.” Now Merlin looks at him, inquisitive. “The little man on the bridge to the Perilous Lands called me that. But it never sounds like saying I’m _strong_ , or that I’m a good swordsman. It sounds like my _name_.”

 

        Merlin hums, hooking his hands behind Gwaine’s neck and lacing his fingers together. “Perhaps it is your name. Perhaps like Emrys, and The Once and Future King, you’ve been prophesied, as well.”

 

“As Strength?”

 

        Kilgharrah huffs a laugh, and Gwaine would say that the dragon _smiles_. “Ah, but perhaps you are thinking of it too literally, young knight.”

 

        And suddenly, Gwaine is acutely aware of the weight of Merlin’s body against his, feels his limbs trembling with the effort of staying upright. Gwaine hooks an arm around Merlin’s waist, catching him before he stumbles, and pulls him close.

 

        Merlin’s eyes twinkle, and he tugs teasingly at Gwaine’s hair. “My Strength.”

 

***

        They set up camp that night at the base of the mountain. It’s quiet, and the company keeps themselves busy by tending to the fire and completing the necessary chores. Gwaine is not exempt from this, but he stays near the hearth, one eye always watching Merlin and Aithusa as they huddle together.

 

        Percival comes back with some rabbit to roast, and tosses a couple to Aithusa before settling down and beginning to skin the rest. Leon sets the spit over the fire. Gwaine finishes his task of collecting stones for the fire, and goes to take his place settled into Aithusa’s side with Merlin tucked under his arm. Arthur can’t cook to save his life, so he finds a spot on the ground that’s flat enough to not be uncomfortable, and sits down. He gestures for Percival and Leon to finish preparing dinner.

 

“I’m sorry.” Merlin’s voice cuts through the silence of the clearing, effectively garnering the attention of everyone there. He shifts slightly against Aithusa’s middle, and she curls her tail more tightly around he and Gwaine _–_ but she doesn’t look up from gnawing on the rabbits that Percival tossed her way when he came back.

 

        Arthur pokes at the flames with the end of one of the swords he brought, confused by Merlin’s words. He mouth skews, and his brows bunch together in a frown. “Why are you sorry?”

 

“I never thought it would come to this. It’s my fault.”

 

“How is any of this your fault, Merlin?” Merlin is quiet, and Arthur sees Gwaine tug him closer, sees him shift so that Merlin fits more comfortably to his side. Arthur’s heart aches for that kind of touch, for Gwen to be near so that he may have all of his fears and doubts chased away. “If anything, it’s mine.”

 

        Merlin looks up sharply. “What? Arthur, no _–_ ”

 

“Merlin. Merlin, really, it is my fault. The Druids are right; I was being hypocritical and ignorant. I let my fear control my thoughts and actions, and the people of Camelot are paying the price.” Arthur pauses to look back at the fire, his frown deepening. “You’re paying the price.”

 

        He lifts his gaze to meet Gwaine’s _–_ all righteous fury and steel, radiating protectiveness _–_ and then he looks at Merlin, who stares back at him with the same loyalty, love and acceptance that he’s always had for Arthur, and its presence now regardless of everything makes something in Arthur break. “And I’m sorry, Merlin. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

        Merlin’s voice is soft when he replies; “The price? I’m not paying the price, Arthur. I’m suffering the consequences, but do not mistake it for paying the price.”

 

“There’s a difference?”

 

        Merlin looks up to the stars, but his eyes are unseeing, stuck in some far-off memory. “Yes, Arthur. There’s a difference.”

 

 

***

       They make it back to Camelot in good time, taking into consideration Merlin’s condition. Merlin is immediately shuffled back into Gaius’ chambers, and promptly falls into a deep slumber, exhausted. The knights reconvene in the royal chambers, maps spread out on the table, and argue about which is the best place to start their quest.

 

“I think perhaps you should get Gaius.” Gwen comes up behind Arthur and places a hand on his shoulder, rubbing softly.

 

“Why would I need Gaius? He’s already busy taking care of Merlin.”

 

        She raises her eyebrows at him, unconvinced. “You know that of everyone here, he’s the one who will be able to help the most. Set aside your pride and accept that in this situation, you can’t make any informed decisions, because you don’t know much about what you’re dealing with.”

 

        It stings, but Arthur knows that it’s true. He sighs, “Fine, call for Gaius. But make sure Gwaine stays with Merlin instead.”

 

        Gwen beams at him. “Perfect! I’ve already sent someone for him, he should be here any minute.”

 

        Snickers from across the table let Arthur know that the entire exchange has been overheard.

 

        Not a moment later, there’s a knock on the door, and Gaius lets himself in. Arthur waves him to a seat, and he makes himself comfortable, all the while eyeing the maps spread out on the table. “Have you thought of anything, Sire?”

 

        Arthur shakes his head. “Has Gwaine told you what happened?”

 

       Gaius nods, grave. “Yes. It is of no surprise to me that this is the nature of this curse, but for it to be so strong is...unheard of. It is a shame that Kilgharrah could not help you any more than he has.”

 

“So, what do you think? We’ve marked the locations the dragon mentioned on the maps, but there is really no way that we can go to all of them -- they’re too spread out, and there’s no way that Merlin will be able to travel for that long.”

 

“You’re bringing Merlin with you, Sire?” Gaius’ eyebrows rise, incredulous. “He is in no state to travel anymore, at all. Since you left for the cave half a fortnight ago, he’s already had three new runes appear, and he’s in an incredible amount of pain.”

 

        Arthur grimaces, apologetic. “I...don’t think it will be possible to do this without him, Gaius. Guinevere has been kind enough to point out that I still know very little about magic, and if you and Merlin and this Kilgharrah are are right, then we’ll need an understanding of it to break it.

 

“I can’t bring you with me, Gaius, because I need to stay help Guinevere on the council, and to be ready as Court Physician. I’m afraid that Merlin is my only choice, as much as I would like to let him stay and rest.”

 

        Gaius sighs, defeated. He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. “My poor boy,” he whispers.

 

        Arthur and the knights give him a moment, until he clears his throat and turns to the king with new determination in his eyes. “Well? What do you need to know?”

 

        Leon, Percival and Arthur exchange a relieved look, while Gwen sits back in her chair, pleased. “We need to know if there’s one of these locations that would _for sure_ be one of the binding sites, and could give us any clues to the other locations.”

 

        Gaius leans back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Is that all, Sire? Because that’s a question with a fairly easy answer.”

 

        The knights lean forward, expectant, and Arthur raises a brow. “Oh?”

 

“The Crystal Cave is both of these things, being the birthplace of magic and home to thousands of scrying crystals, as Merlin’s told you. This would be your best bet for the first binding site. Unfortunately, to narrow it down from there is still too unpredictable.”

 

        But now Arthur has a goal, and he stands straighter with new determination. “No, that’s fine, Gaius. Thank you. We’ll figure this out from here.”

 

***

        It’s decided that only Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine and Aithusa will go on the quest (Aithusa mostly because she refused to let them leave her behind, and because if there is no way to use magic, then dragonfire is a good second choice).  Percival and Leon will remain in Camelot to help Gwen take over Arthur’s duties in the council and with the knights _–_ without knowing how long they’ll be gone on this quest, it’s wisest to leave as many capable and loyal people in Camelot as possible.

 

“ _Mer_ lin, you lazy idiot, are you finally ready to go?” Arthur looks up at the stairs where Merlin is slowly making his way down, one step at a time, leaning heavily on Gwaine’s arm. “Come on, if we want to reach this cave by tomorrow, we need to leave now.”

 

        Merlin winces at a sudden movement, and glares up at Arthur from the ground. Gwaine chuckles lightly, reaching out to help Merlin up onto their horse. Once Merlin has gently maneuvered himself into a comfortable position, Gwaine hops up behind him and lets Merlin relax against him. “No sleeping, eh, love? You’re the only one who knows where this cave is.”

 

        Merlin grunts in response, but is otherwise silent. Gwaine meets Arthur’s gaze, and he nods, ready to go. They both look back to where their friends and loved ones await at the top of the stairs, and Arthur raises a hand to them; not knowing when he’ll be back, but knowing that when he is, the curse will be broken, and his brother returned home safely.

 

***

        At the pace they have to ride at to accommodate Merlin’s injuries, they don’t find the cave until the morning of their third day out of the city. The entrance is small, almost invisible to anyone not looking for it. “This cave has been here then entire time?” Hands on the hilts of their swords, Gwaine and Arthur lean forward, trying to see as much of the inside of the cave as possible without leaning too far inside.

 

        Merlin stands next to Aithusa, the dragon pushing against his leg to keep him upright. “As far as I know. Although, mostly its invisibility relies on the fact that most people don’t believe it _actually_ exists. Many think it is simply a legend, so they don’t come looking for it.”

 

“So then how did you find it, Merlin?”

 

“There was a time, a few years back, when you were shot in the back by bandits while we were hunting here in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Taliesin found us, recognizing me for who I am, healed you, and brought me to the Crystal Cave.”

 

“Who’s Taliesin?”

 

        Merlin lets out a small groan of pain, hunching over, before he answers. Gwaine walks back to him, rubbing a soothing hand over his shoulders. “He...he was a very powerful Seer amongst the Druids.”

 

“Was? He died?”

 

        Merlin’s smile is a little strained. “Centuries ago.” And without saying anything else, Merlin hobbles forward and into the cave. Aithusa doesn’t follow, and starts pacing, watching the surrounding environment.

 

        Gwaine smiles at her, and gives her neck an affectionate rub. “Gonna keep an eye out for some nasty bandits, eh? Thanks, pretty lady.” She nudges him with her nose and makes an affectionate mewling noise, and Gwaine turns to follow Merlin into the cave. “Merlin? Love, don’t wander off too far now.”

 

        Echoing from down the tunnel, Merlin’s voice has an impatient edge to it. “Oh, shut it, Gwaine, and come help me.” Gwaine grins and enters the cave at a run, hurrying to join Merlin.

 

        Arthur is left behind in the clearing, and Aithusa eyes him as if to say _well, what are you waiting for?_

 

“Oh, for the love of _–_ Merlin! Gwaine! Wait for me, you bumbling oafs!”

 

***

        Gwaine and Arthur look around in awe at the surface of the cave walls _–_ crystals, brilliant blues and whites, from floor to ceiling. They seem to pulse with light, like a heartbeat, and Gwaine’s voice echoes. “What’s it doing?”

 

        Merlin is panting, hands on his knees, brows knit together. “Screaming.”

 

“What? Screaming? Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin, rocks don’t _scream_.”

 

        Merlin doesn’t respond, just holds his head down and breathes deeply. Gwaine kneels in front of him, hand curling into his hair. “Merlin? You with us?”

 

        Merlin grabs Gwaine’s wrist and squeezes. “Yeah _–_ yeah. Just, give me a moment.”

 

        Gwaine helps him upright, and Merlin lets out a shuddered breath. “What was that, love?”

 

        Merlin lifts his hands, fingers just a brush away from touching the crystals. “It’s like a drum in my head. Their magic is trying so hard to break free, the air is vibrating with the force of it. You truly can’t feel it?”

 

        Arthur frowns, “Nothing.” Arthur reaches out as well, but he moves just a fraction closer to the crystals than Merlin. “No!” Merlin cries, but it’s too late to stop Arthur from touching the smooth surface, or to stop the vision that immediately overwhelms him.

 

_There’s a girl, dirt on her face and covered in rags, but she’s smiling at Merlin, because he’s giving her a rose._

 

_The rose melts; there’s blood, blood everywhere – she’s being cradled in Merlin’s arms, and it’s raining, but the rain can’t hide their tears. They’re at a lake. Serene, peaceful, beautiful, and Arthur knows this is where she was laid to rest._

 

_And then from behind him, he hears a scream – he turns, quick, just to see Merlin again, holding the limp form of his father, Balinor the Dragonlord. He hears his own voice echo around him, tone arrogant and self-assured, “No man is worth your tears, Merlin.”_

 

_Darkness._

 

_Footsteps can be heard approaching, and when Arthur looks up it’s only to see his Uncle, staring beyond Arthur at someone behind him. “It’s you.”_

 

_Merlin steps out from the shadows, eyes defiant and shoulders straight. He raises his palm, and his eyes flash a brilliant gold –_

 

_“It’s you.”_

 

_“You!”_

 

_“You can’t be --”_

 

_“Emrys.”_

 

_“Emrys!”_

 

_“EMRYS!” Morgana’s scream reverberates in his mind, and Arthur feels an almost physical lurch as he’s pulled from the scene and –_

 

        Arthur lands on his bottom, gasping, hands patting the ground as if to assure himself he’s really there. There’s a weight on his shoulders, a feeling he can’t manage to shake _–_ an overwhelming sense of grief and isolation. Merlin is in front of him, shaking, blood soaking up the neck of his tunic. Arthur points at it vaguely, “You’re bleeding.”

 

        Merlin waves his hand away, unconcerned. “You saw a vision, Arthur. What did you see?”

 

“Why would I see a vision? I don’t have magic. This doesn’t make any sense, Merlin.”

 

“What _does_ make sense right now, Arthur? The magic is looking for release _– any_ release. What did you see?”

 

        Arthur swallows, eyes wide and searching. Merlin holds his gaze, unrelenting. “I saw you. And, a girl. My uncle. Your father. So many people I didn’t know. I saw them dying. I saw how lonely you were.”

 

        Merlin flinches back, hand clenching into a fist. “Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t listen _–_ ”

 

“Well, Princess, now’s not the time for this. We’ll have all the time in the world after this quest, yeah? So let’s get a move on and get out of this cursed cave.” Gwaine helps Merlin to his feet, and he doesn’t bother lending a hand to Arthur before he’s on his way, Merlin clinging to his arm. They reach a fork in the path, separating into two different tunnels. Gwaine looks between the two, unsure. “I don’t really want to try my luck and get it wrong just to have to be here for an extra who knows how long.”

 

“We can split up, and see what we find.” Arthur leans his weight on his hip, hand falling loosely on the hilt of his sword.

 

“We don’t need to split up. It’s that way.” Merlin raises a hand to point down the path on the right. “I can feel it.”

 

“How can you tell?”

 

“The magic feels stronger from that tunnel.”

 

        Merlin and Gwaine lead the way down the tunnel, with Arthur trailing behind. Eventually they find themselves in an open cavern, lit by the pulsing power of the crystals. At the centre of the room, home to the largest crystal they’ve seen yet in the cave, a white, wooden staff is thrust down its centre, filling it with veins of black magic. “That’s it.”

 

        Arthur walks around the crystal looking it up and down. Gwaine helps Merlin to sit so that he can rest for a minute, and joins Arthur at the centre. “So, what do we do now?”

 

“We’re probably supposed to remove the staff.”

 

        Merlin hums in agreement from his seat. “It’s what’s acting as a stopper. Pull it from the crystal, the floodgates open.”

 

        Arthur looks hopeful, but Gwaine frowns at his wording. “‘The floodgates open’? Merlin, is that a good thing?”

 

“I’m not sure. I don’t actually know if all the magic here will be released, because there are still three other binding sites _–_ which, I’ll remind you, we still don’t know.

 

“So I think we should just get it over with and try to remove it from the crystal.”

 

“Alright, then, love.” Gwaine steps forward, bracing his foot against the rock the Crystal is embedded in. He grabs ahold of the staff, and pulls. It’s clear that he’s using all of his strength, but it doesn’t budge.

 

“Ok, then perhaps I should try.” Arthur shoulders Gwaine out of the way, and wraps his hand around the grip of the staff. He huffs in exertion, using all of his weight to try pull the staff from the Crystal. Defeated, he steps back from it, hands on his hips and breathing hard.

 

“You alright, Princess?”

 

“Shut up, Gwaine.”

 

“I think that I’m the one that has to do it.” Merlin pushes himself up off the ground, limping towards the staff.

 

“ _Mer_ lin, if neither Gwaine nor myself could pull this staff out from the rock, what makes you think _you_ can?”

 

        Merlin smiles, grim. “Just a feeling.” He widens his stance, gently taking hold of the smooth wood of the staff. It pulses brightly at Merlin’s touch, thrumming with sealed magic. Merlin inhales deeply, and pulls.

 

        The staff loosens, and slips out of the crystal like he’s pulling it from water. _An isle, surrounded by fog; branches, twining and twining. The smell of burning earth and maniacal laughter; serenity and peace: wild flowers and mountains, pale skin and brown eyes just under the surface._ As soon as the the butt of the staff is free of the crystal, he feels their surroundings tremble at the sudden release of magic. Merlin falls to his knees, exhausted, but the staff stays firmly in his grip.

 

“Merlin, you did it!” Gwaine laughs, cheerful and pleased. He lowers himself next to Merlin, leaning over to let him rest against his side. “Even _I_ felt whatever that was when you freed it from the rock. That was incredible, love.”

 

        Merlin smiles at him, and squeezes his hand in thanks, but he turns to Arthur, victory making his eyes bright. “I know where we need to go.”

 

“What?”

 

“I saw a vision, as I pulled the staff from the crystal.” Merlin stands, but quickly loses his footing, falling sideways before Gwaine catches him.

 

        Gwaine grimaces at the newly stained tunic, keeping Merlin balanced with hands underneath his elbows. “Let’s discuss it outside, love? We need to get your bandages changed.”

 

        Even Arthur looks pained at the sight of Merlin’s new wounds. “Well, come on, then. Let’s get out of here.”

 

        Now Arthur is the one who leads them out of the cave, familiar enough with the path they took to get in. They go at a crawling pace, enough to make sure Merlin doesn’t lose his breath, even while using the staff, and it takes almost twice as long to get out as it did to get in.

 

        Aithusa squawks at the sight of them, jumping from her perch on a low branch, slingshotting it back into place with the absence of her weight. She hurries over to Merlin, nosing him into sitting on the ground, and she curls up behind him, wrapping her tail protectively around his waist. His head lolls, and his lashes flutter.

 

        Gwaine puts a hand to his cheek, the light slap of his palm on Merlin’s skin enough to jolt him. “Merlin. Merlin, you need to stay awake, yeah? You were going to tell us about the other locations you saw in that fancy vision of yours when you pulled this stick out of that shiny rock.”

 

        Merlin groans, “ _Gwaine.”_

 

“What? I thought it was an accurate retelling.” Gwaine pulls Merlin forward, holding up the back of his head with his palm. “Can you remember what you saw, love?”

 

        Merlin exhales loudly through his nose, scrunching up his eyes as a new wave of pain hits. “The Isle of the Blessed. I saw the Isle. And...the Impenetrable Forest? I’m pretty sure it was the Impenetrable Forest. And the Lake.”

 

***

        The Isle is a five day ride from Camelot, but accommodating Merlin adds another two days to their travelling. They meet no one on their journey, which puts Arthur and Gwaine on edge. There seems to be no human presence in the forest, which had once been occupied by bandits and Druids alike.

 

“Maybe having a dragon is _too_ effective in keeping people away.” Aithusa snorts, unimpressed, and swipes her tail at Arthur’s horse’s legs. Gwaine chuckles, and the smile it puts on Merlin’s face stops Arthur from making another snide comment.

 

        However, the lack of people means no opportunity to trade or buy new supplies _–_ Gwaine is running out of bandages and poultices for Merlin, and his fretting is even making Arthur begin to worry.

 

“Surely there will be someone we come across soon. It’s not possible to not meet _anyone_ for a week in the forest.”

 

        The night before they expect to arrive at the Isle, they make camp just inside the border of the forest. Arthur slides out of the saddle first, going to help Gwaine lift Merlin onto the ground from in front of him.

 

        It’s not a painless process, and Merlin’s left gasping by the time they’ve settled him on the ground, leaning back against a tree. Gwaine and Arthur exchange a look, before Arthur shakes his head and starts to clear a spot on the ground for a fire. “I’ll go and collect some firewood, then.”

 

        Merlin and Gwaine watch him go. “Well, at least Princess is trying, eh?”

 

        Merlin smiles, and his entire demeanor seems to soften. “He’s handling this much better than I had expected him to, honestly.”

 

“Good thing we’ve still got plenty of time to talk it over, then?”

 

“And I’m sure _you_ being here is making it so much easier for him.”

 

        Gwaine reaches up to curl his fingers in Merlin’s hair, tugging affectionately. “ _Well_ , I’m not here for him, now, am I?”

 

        Merlin pushes himself forward off the tree and into Gwaine’s space, lips brushing softly against his. “Insufferable.”

 

        Gwaine grins against Merlin’s lips. “Now, I can’t seem to figure out why that’s the only adjective you ever associate with me. What about ‘handsome’? Or ‘witty’? If I’m honest, I _do_ like being called ‘roguish’ _–_ gives me an edge, hmm? ‘Insufferable’ doesn’t do anything for my stellar reputation, I’m afraid.”

 

“Ugh, can we keep the flirting to a minimum, please?” Arthur comes stomping back into the small clearing, footsteps weighed down with all of the kindling he’s carrying.  

 

        Gwaine looks to Merlin, feigning confusion. “Has he not noticed we’ve been sharing a bedroll? Snogging in plain sight? What is this ‘minimum’ he’s talking about?”

 

“Gwaine, you’re really not helping your ‘stellar reputation’ right now.” But Gwaine only smiles, and leans in for one more kiss before rising to his feet to help Arthur get the rest of their camp set up. Aithusa uses her own natural body heat to keep Merlin warm while they wait for an actual fire, and she busies herself with cleaning dirt from between her scales.

 

        Merlin watches Arthur move around the camp, sees the way his shoulders are tensed and the grim line of his mouth. He sighs, asking, “What is it, Arthur?”

 

        Arthur’s eyes narrow when he looks up at Merlin, before purposefully looking away. “What are you talking about, Merlin?”

 

“You’re upset about something, and _no_ , don’t say something like _the curse_ , because, yes, _I know how shitty the curse is_. There’s something else on your mind.”

 

        Gwaine’s eyebrows are rising closer and closer to his hairline at each exchange, until he whistles lowly and plops himself onto a log next to the fire. “I’ll just be starting supper, then.”

 

        Arthur glances at Gwaine, brows furrowed, before turning back to Merlin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

        Merlin’s voice softens, and the look he gives Arthur is almost pleading. “You can ask me, Arthur. Ask me anything. And I’ll tell you the truth. I know you’re trying to get past this _–_ whatever it is, that’s going on right now between us, but pretending nothing is wrong and trying to slip back into the same old teasing and bantering won’t do it right now.”

 

        Arthur opens his mouth to respond, closes it, and opens it again _–_ still failing to say anything. Eventually, he drops onto the ground in front of Merlin, sitting closer to Aithusa than he’s ever allowed himself to be yet. He sighs in defeat. “It just...happened so fast. I was so angry, for such a long time, and then suddenly someone is in my face telling me that my actions are condemning my people and then they try and kill my best friend. And it’s because of magic. It’s always because of magic.

 

“And now here we are, on this quest, that I really have no idea how to handle, because _what’s a Crystal Cave,_ and _who’s Queen Mab_ , and I’ve barely spoken to you in _months_ , Merlin! And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this is what pushed me to realize I was wrong.”

 

“And what’s important now is that you’re trying to fix it. Magic isn’t evil, Arthur, but it isn’t good, either. It just _is_. It’s going to be a lot of hard working winning people over, but there’s been too much suffering for us to not do anything, anymore.”

 

Arthur looks at Merlin, eyes wide. “Us?”

 

        A familiar feeling of love and loyalty fills Merlin’s chest with warmth, and his eyes brighten with it. “It’s always been ‘us’, Arthur. You’re my brother, and we’ll get through this together.”

 

        Gwaine clears his throat from his spot at the fire. “With Gwaine,” Merlin corrects. A sharp flick of tail makes him add, “and Aithusa.”

 

        Arthur takes a moment to himself, quiet in his contemplation, before he looks back to Merlin, eyes clear and expression more relaxed than Merlin’s seen it in months. “I do want to ask questions, Merlin...but, I think they can wait until after we’re back home. We have more pressing matters to worry about.”

 

“Yes, like dinner,” Gwaine prompts, “and rest. We’ll probably arrive at the isle tomorrow, so best get on with it.”

 

***

 

        The next morning, Gwaine gives Merlin the last of their finished draughts, leaving Merlin drowsy but mostly pain free _–_ he sleeps for most of the ride to the Isle of the Blessed. It can’t be comfortable, but Gwaine and Arthur know that it’s better he’s asleep for the ride than awake and in pain. Already, four new runes have appeared since they’ve left the Crystal Cave. It comes as a relief to see the foggy outline of the Isle from the great ruins of Daobeth.

 

        Reaching the shore of the lake, Gwaine gives Merlin a gentle shake, making sure he's awake before getting off the horse. Arthur is already at the water's edge, tugging the small wooden boat closer to the worn out dock.

 

        The boat begins to move, without prompting, as usual. Merlin can tell, even in his groggy state of mind, that it still makes Arthur uncomfortable, and he snorts under his breath. Clearly, Arthur hears, because he quickly delivers a kick to Merlin's shin.

 

        Merlin bows over, gasping. With every exhale comes a low moan of pain.

 

“What? I thought there weren't any wounds on your legs! Merlin!” Arthur practically jumps across the boat at him, making it sway under the rapid shifting weight, his hands hovering, but not touching.

 

        Merlin recovers quickly, smirking. “There aren't.”

 

        Arthur scowls. “You're an idiot.”

 

        Gwaine wonders, “How is it possible the two of you didn't speak to each other for four months?”

 

        The boat rocks against the shore of the island, jolting the three of them in their seats. Aithusa lounges on the grass a few feet off the shore, having flown over the water before them.

 

        As Gwaine helps Merlin out of the boat, Arthur goes ahead, sword at the ready, to scout. Gwaine calls out, “What’re you doing, Arthur? There’s probably nobody here.”

 

        Arthur glares over his shoulder, the look on his face giving off a _shut up, Gwaine_ , vibe. “Tell me, Gwaine, when have we ever been on this island _without_ encountering some kind of all-powerful sorceress?”

 

        Gwaine frowns, thinking, and Merlin steps up to his side, hands on his hips. He looks at Arthur, exasperated. “Arthur, you’ve only been to the Isle once.”

 

        Arthur’s shoulders tense. “And we encountered the Cailleach, who laughed at the idea of killing innocents.”

 

        Merlin’s taken a far-off look, shoulders sagging, hand gripping Gwaine’s. “Yes. I suppose she wasn’t very pleasant.”

 

        Arthur narrows his eyes. “There was something else about that whole situation, wasn’t there? Something I didn’t know.”

 

        Merlin heaves a sigh, scratching at the light stubble from days of not shaving. “There usually was.”

 

        When Merlin says no more, Arthur seems to accept it for what it is _–_ Arthur has said there will be no questions until they arrive back home, and he’ll keep his word. He nods, and turns to face the ruins of the Isle “Then let’s get going and get this over with.”

 

        The four of them keep together as they search through the ruins. There is no sign of anyone being here for months _–_ there’s a wildness to the place that is telling of the Isle’s oddness and fantastical history.

 

        Merlin is walking through the ruins with his eyes closed _–_ letting Gwaine’s hold on his hand guide him, and he runs his fingers along the wall as they walk through the disintegrating palace. Unlike the constant screaming and thundering of the magic in the Crystal Cave, the magic on the Isle is more subdued _–_ a constant hum, like a river, flowing in a circuit through the crumbling stones. _At least here, the magic has a path to follow._

 

        Merlin stumbles when he bumps into Arthur _–_ who’s stopped at the gateway to the large clearing, the one home to the altar and Lancelot’s final breaths. And _–_

 

“There’s someone here.” Arthur’s voice is laced with tension, and already he’s on the offense. Gwaine moves in front of Merlin, keeping him shielded. But Aithusa remains unconcerned, which in turn keeps Merlin calm _–_ he places his hand on Gwaine’s arm, using it to keep his balance as he looks over his friends’ shoulders. He catches a glimpse of whoever is standing at the altar, and pauses when he recognizes who it is.

 

        Her hair is combed back from her face, sleek and dark, and her gown is the colour of blood, just as rich as it was the day she died. But even so, there’s an opaqueness to her; a flatness that gives her _otherness_ away. “Nimueh.”

 

        Merlin doesn’t see it, but he hears the leather of Gwaine’s gloves tighten around the hilt of his sword.

 

        Arthur glances at Merlin for a moment, not wanting to risk taking his eyes away from the stranger for any longer than that. “That priestess that betrayed my father? That Morgause used in her lies?”

 

        Merlin tenses, “Morgause didn’t lie, Arthur. I did.”

 

        Arthur’s eyes widen in realization, and for a moment, he lowers his guard and his sword drops. “You _–_ ”

 

“Oh, _Merlin._ How nice to see you, after such a long time.” Her voice is as musical as ever, and Merlin remembers thinking about how beautiful she was, the taste of poison burning in his throat.

 

“I can’t say I feel the same.” Merlin is leaning heavily on Gwaine’s arm, and his smile is grim. “Why are you here, Nimueh?”

 

        In the blink of an eye, Nimueh is in Merlin’s space. Gwaine cries out, swinging his sword, but she’s made of smoke; Nimueh’s responding grin sends shivers down Merlin’s spine.

 

        It seems that her tangibleness is of her own will, because she reaches forward and tugs the collar of his shirt down, sneering at the freshly stained bandages, before also pulling those away to peer at the old burn scar covering his chest. Her fingers are cold. “This has healed quite nicely.”

 

        Merlin smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “So have you, considering you’re not a pile of ash.”

 

        She bares her teeth in a grin that doesn’t reflect in her eyes. “Oh, it sounds like you didn’t miss me, Merlin. Me, and the good old days. After all, considering everything, our spats seem quite insignificant. And to think they ended with you striking me down with a bolt of lightning! How dramatic!” She cackles, and the sky darkens.

 

“ _Why. Are. You. Here.”_

 

         She holds a palm to his cheek, her expression one of mock affection. “Oh, no need to be so upset, Merlin.”

 

        Gwaine growls, but Merlin stands his ground. He and Nimueh lock gazes, until eventually Nimueh sighs, exaggerated and overdramatic. She fingers the bandages on his neck, contemplative. “Well, _you_ know that the world is lacking balance right now. There is no equilibrium; there is none of your light and none of my darkness. It’s taking quite the toll on you, isn’t it?”

 

“Get to your point, Witch.” Arthur’s tone is cold, detached. _Perhaps he’s trying to forget that this is the woman responsible for his existence._

 

        Nimueh gives Arthur a knowing smirk, unafraid and at ease. She hums, and then she lunges and she’s got Merlin’s throat in her hand, her grip like cold iron on his skin. Arthur and Gwaine are shouting, and from the corner of his eye he sees Aithusa spread her wings, jaw widening and fangs bared, but Merlin can’t hear any of it past the rush of air and the thunder of Nimueh’s rage. “While you refused to work with me all those years ago, we will work together now. Those _foolish_ Druids do not understand what they’re dealing with _–_ they’re going to kill magic, and it is in _everyone’s_ best interest that they don’t. So I will tell you what you need to do to undo the wretched binding on this holy land.”

 

         The magic that had been flowing smoothly just under the surface turns into rapids, growing in momentum and in strength. While Nimueh can’t access it herself, it’s reacting to her from beyond the bindings. Merlin nods minutely, and she lets go of his throat.

 

        She steps back, and the world is silent once more. “Good.” And without another word, she turns on her heels and heads straight for the altar.

 

        Gwaine comes immediately to Merlin’s side, hands brushing up and down his arms. “Merlin? You alright, love?”

 

        He nods, falling into Gwaine’s side and touching his forehead to Gwaine's. Gwaine touches his palm to Merlin's chest, right in the centre of his burn scar. “She's quite something,” Merlin breathes.

 

“So are you.” Gwaine runs a soothing hand up his arm, squeezing his shoulder gently.

 

“Well, come on then. I don't suppose the two of you want to stay here all day.” Arthur grouches, sheathing his sword and following Nimueh’s path to the centre of the clearing.

 

        Merlin joins them, Gwaine and Aithusa on either side of him, and waits as Nimueh seems to collect something from below the altar. She straightens, cradling an object in her palms.

 

“The Cup of Life.” Arthur doesn't appear to be very pleased. “How do you have it?”

 

        Arthur asked Nimueh, but it's Merlin who answers. “The cup disappeared after Morgana and Morgause’s attack on Camelot. I assumed it went back to the druids, where it was safest.”

 

“...and then Ethne took it and used it for the curse.” Arthur finishes.

 

“Well, I'm glad that we've figured all of this out, but perhaps you boys would care to listen, now?” Nimueh glides around to the front if the altar, holding out the cup to Merlin. He takes it, feels it vibrating with the force of keeping the Isle’s magic locked away.

 

“It must be destroyed.”

 

        Merlin jolts back in horror. “The Cup?”

 

        Nimueh grips his arms tightly, bruising. “It is the only way to free us. A sacrifice must be made. The balance demands it.” Merlin narrows his gaze at her, suspicious, but all Nimueh does is laugh at his response. “You know that I do not lie; perhaps, before, I abused my power as one of the Nine, but you can _feel_ the truth, trembling in your hands. _It must be destroyed._ ”

 

        Merlin clenches his jaw, not liking the prospect of having to destroy such a holy and powerful item. “If that is what must be done,” he says, through clenched teeth.

 

        Unmoved by his sentimentality, Nimueh continues, “You already have the staff from another binding site with you; you will take that and the cup and whatever it is that you will find in that wretched forest, and you will bring it to the lake. Your lady will know how to purify the items, using the waters of Avalon, and that is what will break the curse.”

 

        Merlin frowns when he realizes what she’s trying to say. “There’s nothing else we can do here. We just have to bring the cup to the lake.”

 

        Gwaine exclaims in confusion, and Arthur looks between Merlin and Nimueh, unease forgotten when he realizes that there’s nothing they can do to chip the curse away here. “There’s nothing we can use to destroy it here? There was no point in us coming here?”

 

        Merlin looks at him like he’s an idiot. “You clotpole, we needed to come here to actually _collect_ the cup. It wasn’t completely useless.”

 

“And it’s hardly _my_ fault that those Druids were incompetent enough to let one of their _own_ steal something so precious.” Nimueh arches a thin brow, haughty and arrogant. Merlin bristles, and she smiles when she notices. “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean no offence, _My Lord_.”

 

        Merlin shakes his head, “I’m not interested in your mockeries, Nimueh. And perhaps, now that we’ve collected what we need, we will be on our way.” Merlin places the cup in his pack, its trembling constant in its fight against magic. He turns his back on Nimueh, taking Gwaine’s hand in his and starts to leave. He hears Arthur’s footsteps and Aithusa’s tail crackling along the dried grass, telling him they’re following close behind.

 

        When they reach the gateway to the ruins, Nimueh calls out to him. “Emrys.” He stops, hesitating for a moment before turning to look at her. “No matter our differences, you are a being of magic, and I am a practicer of magic. It flows in our veins as blood does.

 

“You cannot fail.”

 

        Merlin keeps their gazes locked for a moment before relaxing his stance, rolling his shoulders back. He stands taller, more powerful and more _other_. “Thank you, Nimueh.”

 

        And then she’s gone, ashes blown away on the wind.

 

***

        The Impenetrable Forest is another eight days’ ride from the Isle of the Blessed. At the sight of the great forest, with its giant trees and unending tangles of vines and thorns, a sense of dread and foreboding makes their hearts clench. The closer they come to the forest’s edge, the more laboured Merlin’s breathing becomes. Gwaine pulls him closer, pushing his head back to rest on his shoulder. “We’re almost there, love. Then we can get moving to that lake of yours. All peace and quiet and beautiful girls in dresses made of water.”

 

“It’s worse here than it was in the Crystal Cave,” Merlin moans.

 

        Not for the first time, Gwaine wishes that he and Merlin could have stayed home, in Camelot, and let Arthur and the others take care of the quest (a small voice in his mind lets him know how stupid _that_ idea is _–_ who knows how long it would have taken Princess to get all of this done?), and let Gwaine take care of Merlin where he’s safest and happiest. Not on the road, with the air beginning to crisp with the dying summer. Not where he has to spend nights sleeping on the ground, covered in cursed wounds that never seem to close and bleed into Gwaine’s nightmares.

 

“Gwaine? Are you coming?” Arthur’s ridden his horse just beyond the treeline, now, and he’s turned back to look at Gwaine, expectant. Aithusa can just barely squeeze her hulking form through between the mess of vines, and she flaps her wings impatiently.

 

“Alright, alright, we’re coming.” Gwaine presses a kiss to Merlin’s cheek, and kicks his horse forward.

 

        They ride for an hour at an agonizingly slow pace, the horses having a hard time navigating their way around the roots and stumps. There’s a constant rustling noise, putting them on edge, as if there is someone, or someones, following them.

 

“We’ll have to leave the horses now; I don’t think they’ll be much good any longer in this mess. How did Merlin manage to find his way through all this before?” Arthur swipes a branch out of his way, cursing when it only whips back and hits him in the face. “And then we’ll walk for another hour before camping for the night.”

 

         They dismount, both Aithusa and Arthur having to help Gwaine lift Merlin from the saddle, and they prop him up in between the two of them. Merlin tries, and fails, to hold up his own weight, so they begin their trek attached at the shoulders. Aithusa follows close behind, eyes darting back and forth, spying for anything out of the ordinary.

 

        Time seems to pass in a blur, in the forest. With Merlin barely conscious, he can’t help them with any kind of directions, and the humidity and awful visibility is starting to take its toll on Gwaine and Arthur’s morale.

 

“Arthur, we’ve passed this tree already.”

 

“No! Gwaine, I swear, we haven’t come this way before.”

 

“Princess. The horses we left behind over an hour ago are _right there_.” And sure enough, the two horses are still there, wandering and grazing in their small clearing tucked away amongst the the trees. Arthur growls in frustration, throwing himself from under Merlin, and throwing the first thing he picks up off the ground.

 

        As soon as Arthur’s whipped _–_ a stone, Gwaine thinks, into the darkness in his frustration, maniacal laughter rings in the air. Gwaine stumbles back, surprised, but not enough to let go of Merlin, and Arthur immediately unsheathes his sword, swinging it wide. The laughter only becomes louder, more arrogant, and Gwaine settles Merlin on the ground to join Arthur in a defensive stance. “Show yourself! Who are you?”

 

        There is rustling beneath their feet and above their heads in the trees; Aithusa bares her teeth and growls, holding herself low to the ground in front of Merlin. There is a moment of complete silence before a voice fills the clearing, feminine and cold and powerful. “Oh, hasn’t Emrys spoken of me? I am Queen Mab; Spirit of this realm, and all places that bring despair to men’s hearts.”

 

        Arthur looks at Merlin, his expression quite obviously reading, _where in God’s name do you find these people?_ But Merlin isn’t looking at Arthur; he’s got his head between his knees, moaning softly with his hands covering his ears. “Merlin?”

 

“I can’t tell what’s going on! I don’t know where we are!” Merlin’s breath is coming in quick and shallow, and Gwaine takes one looks at Merlin before lunging towards the sound of the voice, roaring in anger.

 

“What have you done to him? Why is he like this?”

 

        Silence follows Gwaine’s outburst, until the rustling resumes, only this time it is going towards Merlin. Gwaine and Arthur both move as if to stomp on whatever runs in the grass, but before they know it, a small, black-clad woman pokes up from below. She reaches out to Merlin, “Hush, Emrys. You know what you must do. There is no need to be fearful.”

 

        He pants in exertion, trembling, and his eyes are cloudy when he looks at Queen Mab. “But I can’t use my magic. I can’t breathe.”

 

“Then use your instinct, Emrys. Very rarely it has failed you.”

 

***

        When Merlin calms down, he’s left boneless in a heap next to Gwaine. He struggles to keep his eyelids open as he stares at the inhuman queen. “You know why we’re here.”

 

        She grins, sharp as a dagger. “Courage, Strength, and Magic; here at last to break the curse.” Smoke rises from the treetops, making the air heavy with it and tasting of something so sweet it can only be poison. “My kingdom is dying, Emrys. Will you help me save it?”

 

***

        She tells them that Ethne chose to bind the magic in a rowan tree, in the heart of the forest. “There is too much magic here; there is no way for the binding to go smoothly. You can feel it, Emrys, can’t you?”

 

        They spend what seems like hours wandering through the forest, Gwaine keeping a steady hand on Merlin while Aithusa and Arthur clear a path ahead.

 

“Left is right, and right is left; the way behind is the way ahead.” Merlin mutters under his breath.

 

“What was that, Merlin?”

 

        He shakes his head, “Oh, nothing. Just something Queen Mab had told me before, making it easier for me to travel through the forest.”

 

***

        The rowan tree is old and crooked and –dead. Handmade charms reeking of black magic hang from its branches, leaving Merlin cringing at the base of the tree.

 

“What are those?” Having learnt his lesson in the Crystal Cave, Arthur doesn’t reach out with his hand _–_ instead, he pokes one of the charms with the end of his blade, watching it swing above his head.

 

        It gives Merlin a headache. “Stop that, Arthur.”

 

        Arthur looks apologetically back at Merlin and stops the swinging charm with the flat edge of his sword. “What do you think we have to do?”

 

“Well, perhaps...we take down the charms? I imagine the charms are part of the binding.” Merlin uses Gwaine’s arm to steady himself as he drops to the ground, exhausted. “They’re practically glowing with dark magic.”

 

“Should we not touch them?” Gwaine eyes the patchwork charms, arms crossed over his chest and hands tucked safely underneath them.

 

        Merlin shakes his head. “If you can use your sword, or if you have gloves, that would be best.”

 

“Alright, then. This seems easy enough. Then we can leave this wretched place, love.” Gwaine pulls his gloves tighter on his hand, and braces himself against the trunk before beginning to pluck the charms from the tree.

 

        Merlin thought that perhaps as the charms are removed, the magic, while still bound, would calm and the thundering in his head would quiet. But it’s not, and as more and more charms are taken down from the tree, Merlin becomes more concerned. “Wait. Wait, I don’t think it’s working.”

 

        Arthur has four charms cupped in his palms, and he looks incredulously at Merlin. “What do you mean? It’s not like we’ve done anything more significant than this at any of the other locations. It’s just been little chore after little chore.”

 

“With a greater purpose,” Merlin grimaces, and tries to hide his flinch as he feels another rune tear into existence on his thigh. “There was a – _shift_ , when we acquired the last objects. You both felt it. There’s nothing changing right now.”

 

        Merlin rolls over and stumbles to his feet, reaching out blindly until Gwaine is there, helping him find his balance.

 

“Merlin,” Gwaine is looking anxiously at the growing patch of dark red on his trousers, but Merlin waves away his concern.

 

“Later, Gwaine.” But still, Merlin gives his hand a gentle squeeze, hoping that it gives him even a small feeling of reassurance. He staggers over to the tree, hand held up in front of him.

 

“Merlin? I thought you said we shouldn’t touch it?”

 

“Stuff it, Arthur. I just need to check something.” At the lightest brush of fingertips against bark, Merlin recoils, gasping.

 

        Gwaine _and_ Arthur are at his side immediately, one under each arm. “What is it? Did it – did it _hurt_ you?”

 

“No, Arthur, it’s – I’m fine,” both Gwaine and Arthur look doubtful. Exasperated, Merlin corrects himself, “As fine as I’ve been this whole bloody quest, alright? It’s the _tree_. The charms we still need, because those are what Ethne used, but the whatever magic she used to make those have seeped into the tree. It needs to go.”

 

        Gwaine hums, “I’m sure small-and-scary will like that.”

 

        Merlin huffs a laugh. “Well, it’s necessary. And I’m sure a taste of her own medicine won’t hurt. ‘Queen of every place that brings despair to men’s heart’.”

 

        Merlin turns, searching for their scaled companion. “Aithusa?” She lifts her head, alert. “Why don’t we burn this tree down?”

 

***

        They leave the rowan tree burning.

 

        It takes them half a day to find the horses, but Merlin barely lasts half of that and is lying along Aithusa’s back as comfortably as possible. Gwaine and Arthur ready their horses, and as they go to move Merlin from Aithusa’s back, cackling makes them jump out of their skin.

 

“He doesn’t look too well, does he?” Queen Mab is perched on Aithusa’s shoulder, looking down on Merlin’s unconscious face. “Poor, poor Emrys.”

 

       Gwaine swats at her, and she giggles. “Is that how you treat a queen?”

 

“You’re not a very helpful one.”

 

“I admit, I prefer to stand back and watch. There is something...delightful about despair and fear.”

 

“Is there something you want?” Arthur’s voice gives nothing away, but Gwaine can see the tightness around his eyes and knows that this queen is pushing the limits of his patience.

 

        Mab grins and tilts her head, appraising. “The Once and Future King...Emrys knows that as creatures of magic, we have some responsibilities to help one another. But know now, that if you need the assistance of myself or the Forest, just call for us.”

 

        Arthur narrows his eyes. “An alliance? And you would keep your word?”

 

        Her eyes brighten in delight, and she cackles again. “Well, I never said I would _come_. But still, you may call. Perhaps whatever trouble you dig up will be amusing enough to convince me to answer.”

 

        And then she’s gone.

 

        Arthur throws his sword, growling in frustration. “Why? _Why_ does Merlin interact with things like that? How does this place impact Camelot? How does he have any patience left?”

 

        Gwaine claps him on the shoulder, a knowing glint in his eye. “Well, Princess, I’ve been asking myself that question since the first day I met you.”

 

***

        Dawn is on the horizon when they first catch sight of the lake. This close to the end of their journey, Merlin can no longer hold himself on the saddle without help. Gwaine keeps a tight grip on his waist, glaring at Arthur every time the king so much as opens his mouth.

 

“We can’t go any faster.” Arthur lifts both his hands in surrender, and keeps on. Aithusa stays in the lead, seemingly knowing where to go.

 

        With Merlin barely able to stay conscious, conversation is sparse. Gwaine’s usual chatter is lacking from his concern for Merlin, and at this point, Arthur really doesn’t know what he can say that would make the situation better.

 

        The path they are travelling comes to a sudden stop; the foliage and twining branches and thorns have taken to blocking their way, and it brings Gwaine and Arthur to a halt. Aithusa, however, seems undisturbed.

 

“It’s an illusion.” Merlin’s voice is raspy and weak, and he makes to grab Gwaine’s hand at his waist. “To make it harder for people to find the lake.”

 

        Just to confirm what Merlin says, Aithusa proceeds to walk straight through the mess of thorny branches and out of view on the other side. Gwaine only waits a moment before following, with Arthur trailing behind.

 

        Both men gasp at the sight of the lake: larger than they would have ever expected, the water clear and calm and overall pristine. It is surrounded by wildflowers and mountains, and trees along the water’s edge are bent so that their branches kiss the surface. Gwaine takes everything in, and he can see the story of this place coming to life: a lonely druid girl, cursed but loved all the same, laid to rest on a bed of flowers, set adrift on lake of magic.

 

        Merlin shifts in front of him, and it brings Gwaine’s mind back to the present; Merlin’s eyes are on the lake, more intense and aware than he’s seen them in days, and as the morning sun breaches the trees and hits the water, in the blink of an eye, there are people standing in the water, watching them.

 

        By the way Merlin leans forward, grabbing at the horse’s neck to steady himself, he recognizes all of them. A man and a girl stand at the front, most visible, while behind them is a mist of shapes, mostly human, only a few distinguishable or identifiable.

 

        Both Arthur and Gwaine are not paying attention to the mists, to the whispers of what and who once were, but to the man behind the doe-eyed girl, tall and dark, standing proud and at peace.

 

        Arthur’s voice is a small, cracked thing in the presence of one he thought to be his most loyal knight. “Lancelot.”

 

        But Merlin pays no mind to the knight, eyes never straying from the girl on the shore. He turns, and lifts a leg over the body of the horse, ready to slide to the ground. Gwaine makes a grab for him, but Merlin places a calming hand on his arm, eyes shining as they meet his. “It’s ok, Gwaine.”

 

        Merlin drops to the ground, and Aithusa moves with him, pushing against his side to help keep him upright. Gwaine watches them stumble to the shore, Aithusa nudging Merlin into the open arms of the girl waiting for him.

 

“Merlin! Wait a moment, love,” Gwaine leans over and unhooks the staff from the saddle. “You’ll probably need this, won’t you?”

 

        Merlin takes it in his hands, fingers trembling but grip firm. He begins to turn away from Gwaine, reluctance clear in his stance. Gwaine waves him forward, and his shoulders relax. Merlin faces the girl in the water, unafraid and at peace.

 

 _Freya,_ he hears Merlin’s whisper echo in his mind.

 

        Gwaine slips from the saddle and onto the ground, boots sinking slightly in the softened earth. He watches Merlin from afar, sees him settle into Freya’s embrace, and wonders what his life would have been like if Merlin really had run to the mountains with the girl he loved all those years ago.

 

“Who’s that?” Arthur has also gotten off his horse, leaving it tethered to a tree on the edge of the clearing.

 

“A story for another time, I’m afraid.” Gwaine claps Arthur on the shoulder, and goes to sit next to Aithusa, busying himself with scratching at a stubborn patch of dirt on her shoulder. There will be no High Priestess, no toxic forest, and no damning visions of the future. Here, there is only Merlin, and lost loved ones, reunited. A fitting end to their quest, whose beginnings had threatened to tear them all apart.

 

***

        Lancelot wades out of the water, but his legs don’t disturb the surface, and he makes no sound. He walks right past Merlin and the girl, looking at Arthur. Arthur shifts from foot to foot, unsure of what to say to the knight who had betrayed him so openly in the court.

 

        But all Lancelot does is smile, and stands shoulder to shoulder with him. They watch Merlin and the girl, and Gwaine and Aithusa, and Arthur can’t be bothered by what he’s seen and what he’s done, now, after everything that has happened on this quest. _I’m on a quest with a warlock, a dragon, and a drunk. I’ve met a High Priestess, a Fairy Queen, seen visions of the past, and now I’m talking to ghosts. Why is there so much of the world that I know nothing of?_

 

“Not everything is as it seems, is it?”

 

        Arthur jumps at the sound of Lancelot’s voice, not expecting the rush of grief and nostalgia that swells in his chest. Even so, his lips curl downwards in a grimace.“No, it seems not.”

 

        Lancelot places a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder, making the king turn to look at him. “And the world is better place for it, Arthur.

 

“You used to tell the others that I was the ideal knight; the bravest, kindest, most noble. You used to say that you wished to be more like me. But did you ever wonder, Arthur, who held that respect in my mind? Who I followed and protected and strove to emulate in everything I did? I died for you, Arthur, and for Camelot. But I also died for Merlin, who was going to do just as I had done, was planning on doing it from the moment we left Camelot _–_ but I knew, just as you know now, that the world would be an empty place without him.”

 

        Arthur shifts so that he can see Merlin, who is still together with the girl at the edge of the water. Their heads are bowed together, hands clasped, and they are speaking in low tones to each other. Even from here, Arthur can see their eyes shine gold, and hope sparks in his chest. _We’re going to make it through this._ _And then hopefully everyone will be able to see the world for what it truly is._

 

        Again, Arthur turns back to Lancelot; in the growing sunlight, his form becomes less tangible, and more ethereal. He glows with the sun, and Arthur can’t bring himself to look directly at him. “It wasn’t you, that time with Gwen, was it?”

 

        Lancelot, of all things, _laughs_ , but it’s a rueful and bitter sound. “No. In death, I became a tool for Morgana. An echo, a shadow, of what once was, or could have been. I never wanted to hurt you _–_ or her. Never her.”

 

        To not know of Lancelot’s feelings for Gwen one would have had to have been blind _and_ deaf, but Arthur didn’t like to dwell too much on that. “How did it stop? How are you here, at peace?”

 

        Lancelot’s otherworldly glow softens, and his voice carries like a gentle breeze. “Merlin, of course. It’s always Merlin.”

***

“Are you ready?” Freya’s breath against his skin sends shivers down his spine, and the breeze passing through her hair makes the air smell like lavender. In death, she’s become magic personified, just like Merlin; while she doesn’t bear the same ugly, painful scars as Merlin, he can feel her exhaustion just as deeply as his own. If they don’t succeed, this will be the end for the both of them.

 

Merlin takes the items from the bag he has draped over his shoulder and across his chest. The Cup of Life and small charms drop unceremoniously into his palm, and the staff is tucked into his side, kept steady being stuck in the mud below the surface. Severed from their ties to magic, they seem insignificant to Merlin. But he knows better. He’s always known better. “I’m ready,” he whispers.

        Freya takes his face in her hands, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Then let’s be rid of this curse, love, once and for all.”

 

        Merlin lets the pieces of the curse fall, and in their descent, they slow, as if they weigh nothing more than feathers. They float to the water, and as soon as they touch the surface, they feel it like a shockwave, their spines straightening and their breath being stolen from their lungs. Distantly, Merlin hears Gwaine cry out, but Merlin and Freya are locked together, eyes shining a brilliant gold, souls reaching out to each other, to the trees, the water, the birds, the stars, the earth. They speak as one: “ _Leort wiccercræft wenden tôgêanes and wægn hrûse, ongifanealdgeweorc mêtan heolor._

 

_“Onlîsen wægn bind._

 

_“Sy âlîtan.”_

 

        Their eyes clear, and they inhale sharply. As the last words of the spell leave their lips, a second shockwave echoes through the ground and rattles their bones. Golden light emanates from between them, and the breeze picks up until it’s a gusting wind, swirling around them, whipping their hair to and fro. There’s no more pain; only bliss. Merlin can feel everything in all of Albion, alive, burning with magic; he hears Queen Mab shriek with joy and the song of the crystal cave. He hears his father’s voice from beyond the veil, loud and full of pride, echo across the lake, _I’m so proud of you, son._

 

        As the wind calms, so does their magic. Merlin and Freya break apart, but their hands are still clasped tightly together, and their eyes are locked on each other. They’re breathing hard, but the smiles on their faces are wide and full of joy.

 

“Merlin?”

 

        Gwaine’s voice is strained, and Merlin turns to look at his love, his Gwaine, and reaches out with his magic to hold him, to heal all of his small hurts and aches from the past month, just because he can. Because he has his magic, his breath.

 

“Merlin!” Gwaine laughs, joyful, and runs to him, arms held open wide. Gwaine scoops him up in his arms, and Merlin is lifted off the ground, no matter that he’s actually taller than Gwaine. Merlin takes Gwaine’s face between his palms, and kisses him, hard. _It’s over. I’m ok, you’re ok._ Gwaine laughs again, broken from the tears that are falling down his face. He puts Merlin down, but doesn’t let him go, pressing his face to Merlin’s neck.

 

        Arthur clears his throat, and the two of them break apart. He’s not looking at the two of them, but Aithusa is, and if dragons had eyebrows, one of hers would be quirked in their direction. But in this moment, even Merlin can’t feel any embarrassment, he’s so full of the euphoric feeling of magic.

       

“I don’t know why you’re still embarrassed, Princess. It’s not like you haven’t been on a quest with us for past month.”

 

        Arthur sputters, and Merlin gives Gwaine a light smack on the arm. _Don’t tease him too much._

 

        Merlin turns, intending to speak to Freya, but when he’s facing the lake, there is no one there. Everyone is gone. Arthur follows his gaze, and starts when he notices they’re alone once more.

 

        A warm, feather-light touch of magic brushes against Merlin’s awareness. _Freya?_

 

_Just as you are and always will be, Merlin, so will I. Know that as long as you live, I will be here, watching and protecting. I wish you every happiness, Merlin._

 

“Where’d Lancelot go? And the girl?”

 

_Thank you._

 

        Gwaine’s gaze travels the lake’s calm surface, watching for any movement. “They’re gone.”

 

        The silence lasts for a few moments, until Arthur clears his throat again. Gwaine and Merlin turn to face him, expectant. “So, is it done? Everything has...been returned to as it was?”

 

        Merlin smiles, eyes shining. “Yes.”

 

        Arthur presses his lips together, his eyes searching Merlin’s face for any hint of the pain and exhaustion that had been plaguing him for the past month. Finding nothing, his expression softens, and all tension seems to lift from his body. “Good. I’m glad, Merlin.”

 

        Merlin steps forward, and wraps his arms around a surprised Arthur, squeezing hard, and pressing his face to Arthur’s. “Me too. Thank you, Arthur.”

 

“Stop being such a girl, Merlin.”

 

“Only when you stop being such a prat.”

 

        Arthur laughs, and claps Merlin on the shoulder. “What do you say we head back home, now, then?”

 

***

 

        Having been reunited with his magic, Merlin’s sense are overwhelmed with the onslaught of nature. It comes as no surprise to him, then, that he can feel the presence of Ethne from miles away. Knowing that they have at least another hour until they confront the Druid, Merlin relaxes at Gwaine’s back, dropping his head onto Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine’s head turns slightly towards him. “Merlin?”

 

“Just resting.”

 

        Merlin’s eyes are closed, but he can hear Gwaine’s smile in his voice. “Ah, I can’t wait to get back to our own bed! And the Rising Sun! Love, it’s been too long since I’ve last had a good cup of ale.”

 

“But sleep first.”

 

“What are you talking about, _Mer_ lin? We have work to do, laws to change. There won’t be any time for _sleep_.”

 

         Merlin groans, and Gwaine laughs. Arthur turns to look back at them with a frown on his face. “Did you not hear what I said, _Mer_ lin? _Laws to change?_ You’re not as excited as you should be.”

 

         Merlin lifts his head, just to lean his chin on Gwaine’s shoulder, instead. “After everything I’ve been through, you prat, I think changing the laws is the _least_ you can do.”

 

“Oh? And what else would you have me do, _Mer_ lin?”

 

“Give me a day off. Or three. How about a week?”

 

“Ah, yes, _I_ would like some days off, too, Princess.”

 

“Gwaine, you wake up at noon, half-ass your way through training, go to the tavern, and treat your patrols as social outings. You don’t need a day off.”

 

“I would like to spend the _entire_ day in bed, every once in awhile, Princess. You understand, don’t you, Princess? You have such a beautiful wife, after all. Merlin, love, surely you’d like to spend an entire day in bed, for once?”

 

“ _Ugh._ ”

 

        Merlin snorts, arms wrapping tightly around Gwaine’s waist. “Have I ever mentioned you’re completely insufferable?”

 

        Gwaine grins, looking much too pleased with himself. “Perhaps once or twice.”

 

         The next few miles pass in comfortable silence, all companions content in the knowledge that they’re finally heading home after such a long time away. Aithusa is usually running ahead, getting distracted by butterflies and birds, her small voice an echo in Merlin’s mind.

 

        They reach a clearing about half a day’s ride from the city. Merlin reaches up to place a hand on Gwaine’s arm. “Stop.”

 

        Gwaine’s reaction is immediate, and Arthur follows suit, once he notices. Aithusa leaps, wings unfurling and carrying her back to Merlin and Gwaine. “What is it, Merlin?”

 

“We have company.”

 

        Arthur is immediately on guard, but Gwaine can feel that Merlin is still relaxed, so he doesn’t reach for his sword right away.

 

        They all turn to a noise coming from their left, and only Merlin isn’t surprised that it’s Ethne that comes into view. She rides until she’s only ten feet from them, her expression blank. But it’s the way she holds herself, shoulders slumped but head still held high, that gives her away. It confirms a suspicion Merlin’s had gnawing at the back of his mind, since he first felt her presence.

 

        Arthur and Gwaine cry out in anger at her presence, Arthur drawing his sword. Aithusa’s wings open, appearing threatening and baring her teeth. _What is she doing here, Merlin?_

 

         Ethne bows her head, at sits back on the saddle, meeting Merlin’s stare with a defiant one of her own. But Merlin can easily see through it, can see the resignation in the lines of her face.

 

“It’s fine. She means no harm, now.”

 

        Arthur growls, and Gwaine is clearly trying his best to hold back. “How can you _say_ that, Merlin? After everything?”

 

        But Merlin has no time for Arthur and Gwaine right now; he keeps his eyes on Ethne, and can feel magic stir around them, reacting to his anger. He knows that his eyes have turned the gold of stars.

 

        Ethne has the courtesy to look away, when faced with such a show of power. “She knows what is going to happen to her. So, no. She means us no harm. She cannot do anything, anymore.” Merlin cocks his head to the side, studying her. “But I don’t understand why you came all the way to find us.”

 

“Perhaps I just wished to try and atone.”

 

        Merlin narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe it. I know that you do not regret your actions.”

 

        Ethne shrugs. “A means to an end. Now everyone truly knows a world without magic. How can they fight it, now?”

 

        Merlin’s eyes flash, and the atmosphere feels heavy with magic, even to Arthur, as blind and deaf as he is to it. “What you did was _foolish_ , _tyrannical,_ and _cruel_. You forced your views and your troubles on an entire kingdom of people, and made them suffer for it.”

 

        Ethne has the audacity to be insulted. “ _Tyrannical_? How _dare_ you, _Emrys_! I did this for _you!_ Because the Pendragon boy does nothing but sit on his throne, and never once tried to see the world of magic for what it truly is. The people still fear magic, they think that it would be so easy to live without it, but they are _so ignorant to the ways of the Goddess--_ ”

 

“No,” Merlin’s voice is steady, but it has an edge; it’s a tone of voice that makes even Arthur stand to attention. “They might be ignorant of the ways of the Goddess, but that is because they do not follow the Goddess. That is your religion, not theirs.

 

“What I want for all of the people of Albion is peace. And peace, Ethne, takes time. We need to show the people the good magic can do. But what you did, the curse you placed on the land, it only showed them that not only can magic raise armies of the dead, bring dragonfire down on the city, and kill with a single word, but that _without it,_ it will poison their crops, dry out their lakes, and make the forests wither and die.

 

“You’ve given them no middle ground, no example of what _good_ magic can do for them.”

 

        Ethne’s lips are pressed into a thin line, eyes bright with fury. “You think what I did was _wrong_ , Emrys?” Her voice remains controlled, but her magic flares dangerously, letting Merlin feel the heat of her anger.

 

“I think what you did was wrong, Ethne, and cowardly. There is peace in the future, Ethne, but you will not be a part of that.”

 

        Some of her fury is tamed, settling into a grim resignation in the slump of her shoulders. But still her gaze is fierce as she speaks to Merlin. “Alas, what can you do about it now, Emrys? My fate is beyond even _you_ , after everything.”

 

        The ground beneath their feet begins to tremble, and Arthur and Gwaine pull tight on the reins, trying to steady the horses. Aithusa takes to the air, finding a safe space in a nearby tree, her weight making the wood creak.

 

        Merlin, eyes still a violent shade of gold, radiates power. His voice, tone low and heavy with power, echoes like thunder throughout the clearing. “You have threatened the people of the Goddess, and let dark magic sink into the depths of the lake of Avalon, Ethne of the Druids,” the ground beneath Ethne’s horse cracked open, making the horse rear until Ethne falls to the ground. The horse runs off, and Merlin pays it no mind.  His gaze is unwavering. “And may the Goddess see that you are punished accordingly.”

 

        As Ethne hits the ground, the earth opens and swallows her whole. Her scream is only heard for a moment, before the land claims her for itself. In her place, a sapling begins to grow, the power of the Goddess turning it from sapling to a great, giant oak in a matter of minutes. It grows, taller and taller, until  it suddenly stops. It’s grown to full maturity in minutes, right in front of their eyes; Gwaine and Arthur are tilting their heads backwards to try and see the highest peak of the tree. Merlin feels a thrum of magic in the ground, and pulls Gwaine tightly to him. “Stand back.”

 

        Gwaine tugs on the reins immediately, forcing the horse to bring them to the outskirts of the clearing. Arthur is following behind them, but before he makes it to them, a noise, sharp and sudden like the crack of a whip, sounds from where the oak tree is rooted in the ground. The tree splits down the middle, the trunk creaking and groaning under the pressure. A pale, golden light lifts from the tree’s core like a gentle exhale, and Merlin knows that magic has finally found its peace. The balance has been restored.

 

***

        At their return, Gwen’s tears flow freely, and she embraces each one of them in turn. She even greets Aithusa, reaching up to pull her head down and place a kiss on her brow.

 

        In their absence, Gwen has been working on convincing the councilmen of the true origin of the curse and the dying land. Knowing that it wasn’t going to go over very well with a lot of the councilmen, she had brought along some of the most gossipy servants, knowing full well that by the end of the day, the people will know the truth.

 

        Or at least most of it; there are some things between a king and his manservant that need to be solved, first.

 

        And it’s everything that Merlin could have hoped for. Arthur is finally listening to him, and slowly they build themselves back up to where they were before; bantering and bickering and advising and listening. Merlin slowly stops performing his servant duties, and begins to attend more council meetings.    

 

        There are talks of rewriting the laws, of reappointing councilmen, and of welcoming Druids into the city. There are talks of a monument to the fallen, for the victims of a time full of ignorance and hate and fear.

 

        There are also talks of appointing a Court Sorcerer.

 

( _“How many times do I need to tell you? I’m a warlock.”_

 

_“People don’t have time for technicalities, Merlin. You’re the Court Sorcerer.”_

 

_“I’ve waited 26 years to be recognized for what I am and not be killed for it, you prat. I’m a warlock.”_

 

 _“_ Mer _lin.”)_

 

        There are talks of appointing a Court Warlock.

 

        Merlin is given new quarters in one of the castle’s empty towers. Time spent not in Arthur’s company is spent there with Gwaine and Aithusa: Merlin casts a spell that allows Aithusa’s constantly growing form in through the window, but they both know that it won’t last much longer. She’s easily larger than any of the king’s horses.

 

        One morning during Yuletide, two months after their return, Merlin wakes buried deep under the blankets, visible skin chilled by the brisk winter air. He lifts his head to inspect the room, seeing Aithusa’s nest by the hearth empty, and the window blown open. He can hear people bustling about in the courtyard below.

 

        Movement at his back makes him turn, and Gwaine smiles when he meets his eyes. He pulls Merlin closer, fingers tracing a rune at the base of his throat.

 

        Merlin smiles, and Gwaine leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, and his mouth. “Hello, Sweetheart.”

 

        Aithusa roars outside the window, playful, and children’s laughter echoes from the ground.

 

        Things are changing, in Camelot.

 

        

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

       

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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